


consider the stay

by biblionerd07



Category: The Exorcist (TV)
Genre: Demonic Possession, Developing Relationship, Family Feels, Guilt, M/M, Mutual Pining, Past Child Abuse, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Recovery, Religious Conflict, Self-Doubt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-26
Updated: 2020-04-26
Packaged: 2021-03-01 20:14:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 23,288
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23862871
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/biblionerd07/pseuds/biblionerd07
Summary: After the exorcisms, Tomas wants to go home. Marcus just isn't sure he knows how to do that.
Relationships: Marcus Keane & Tomas Ortega, Marcus Keane/Tomas Ortega, Tomas Ortega & Luis Ortega, Tomas Ortega & Olivia Ortega
Comments: 28
Kudos: 67





	consider the stay

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not Catholic and I know almost nothing about the workings of the Catholic Church, so please bear with me if some of the religious stuff is off.

The first thing Tomás says when it’s over, when they’ve exorcised Bennett with Mouse and the four of them have encased the Pope in protection and the walls of the Vatican have stopped trembling from the mass exodus of hundreds of demons and their work is done, the Church is safe, is, “I want to go home.”

It’s tremulous and he’s barely standing upright, still weak from his own possession less than two full days ago and the way they’d jumped onto a transatlantic flight with Mouse immediately after, all the holy fire and adrenaline drained from his blood now that it’s over and exhaustion in its wake. He catches his lower lip between his teeth to stop it from trembling but Marcus can see him quaking.

Marcus doesn’t even have time to feel the sting of rejection before Tomás pleads, “Marcus, please, can we go home?”

_We_.

Probably it’s a slip of the tongue. Probably he doesn’t mean the _we_ part of it, means the general _we_ , the royal _we_ , the _we_ that includes Mouse and Bennett and not just Marcus. But Marcus doesn’t look that gift horse in the mouth. If Tomás tires of him, well, Tomás is a grown man and he can tell him when it comes to that. For now, Marcus wraps his arm around Tomás’s shoulders to steady him and buries his nose in Tomás’s hair.

“Yes,” he breathes. “Let’s go home.”

Tomás doesn’t have his apartment anymore. Sometime in the last year, his landlord had realized he wasn’t coming back and rented it to someone else. The man is displeased to see Tomás and isn’t quiet about the fact. Olivia picked up some of Tomás’s things but most got thrown away or donated. Tomás will not be getting his security deposit back.

“That will not look good on my credit report,” Tomás mutters as they leave the office, and it’s so surreal, such a mundane thing to worry about after they’ve stared into the jaws of hell, that they both break out into hysterics, giggling with a downright frantic undercurrent neither of them would be able to explain if asked.

So they turn up on Olivia’s doorstep, exhausted and punch-drunk and smelling of airplane mixed with demon sludge and blood. She must look through the peephole, judging from the force with which she wrenches open the door and barrels into Tomás. She’s crying, and her Spanish is so fast Marcus’s barely-intermediate grasp of the language can’t keep up but for the odd word, a _bastard_ here and _worried_ there. She seems to be vacillating around, anger and happiness and worry and relief each taking their turn. Tomás closes his arms around his sister and closes his eyes against tears and accepts all of her feelings with nods and a repeated, fervent, _perdóname._

Finally, she pushes back, wiping her streaming eyes, and herds them both inside. “Luis!” She calls out. “Luis, come here!”

And then Marcus watches as Luis, taller than Marcus remembers from the brief glances he’d gotten before all this started, copies his mother and throws himself into Tomás’s arms. He doesn’t seem to share his mother’s anger, though; he’s only happy to see his uncle. Marcus can’t help but smile as Tomás all but collapses under the exuberance of his nephew’s love. Normally he’d be worried about Tomás buckling like that, but Tomás is laughing as he goes down and the sound makes Marcus’s heart feel light.

“Are you home for good now?” Luis asks.

“Yes,” Tomás says firmly. “We are.”

Olivia glances at Marcus at that word again, the _we_ , and Marcus can only shrug. He doesn’t know exactly what Tomás has in mind, since he’s lost his parish. Though at this point, Tomás could most likely ask for anything he wants and Pope Sebastian would grant it. He could very well get St. Anthony’s back if he asked.

Marcus had taken his absolution, the reversal of his excommunication, and nothing more. He had declined to take back the collar, though Bennett had said it could be possible if he really wanted it. He and Tomás still haven’t talked about that, but he knows they will. He can feel it brewing when Tomás’s eyes snag on Marcus’s still-bare throat.

“I have to meet with the bishop in a few days,” Tomás is explaining to Luis and Olivia. “To figure out what I’m going to do.”

“Where were you?” Luis asks.

“Well, I went a few places,” Tomás hedges. “We just came back from Rome. And guess what?” He grins at Luis. “I met the Pope.”

“No way!” Luis gasps. “Did you have to kiss his ring?”

Tomás throws his head back and laughs. “I didn’t really get around to it.”

Olivia is watching her brother with narrowed eyes. “You met the Pope?” She’s not quite skeptical; Tomás isn’t known for lies, but she does sound incredulous.

Tomás stands up from where he’d been sitting on the ground with Luis clutching at his arm. “It is a very long story.”

“And Tomás should be resting,” Marcus finally butts in. “He’s…he hasn’t been well.” Tomás throws him a murderous glare, but Marcus is unrepentant. Tomás had been possessed by and fighting a demon for more than a month even before the exorcism, and then he’d gone across the world and helped exorcise the entire leadership of the goddamn Church. Even now, face alight with love and laughter, he looks tired and pale. The circles under his eyes look like bruises and he has a gash on his forehead that’s barely scabbed over. He’d had to hold onto the wall to stand up. Olivia notices all this with the keen eye of a woman used to her brother pushing himself.

“Alright,” she says. “Go lie down on my bed and I’ll bring you something to eat.”

“No, Olivia,” Tomás starts.

“Relax, you’re not sleeping there tonight,” Olivia placates, rolling her eyes. “You can have Luis’s bed and we’ll have a sleepover in mine. But his room is messy right now—” She punctuates this by raising her eyebrows at her son, who shrugs blithely. “—and you look like you’re about to drop any second.”

Tomás frowns, but there’s a light sheen of sweat on his forehead that’s keeping him from insisting he’s fine. He nods and starts heading down the hallway. Marcus isn’t quite sure what he’s meant to do. Help Olivia in the kitchen? Help Luis clean his room? He’s not banking on a free ride here, and he’s still alert enough to be useful. He’s just stepped into the kitchen and Olivia’s looked up to greet him when they hear Tomás call out,

“Marcus? Marcus!” He sounds almost panicked and Marcus has turned and started running down the hall before he even realizes what he’s doing. Tomás is sitting on the edge of the bed, a white-knuckled grip on the sheets, when Marcus finds him.

“Tomás, what is it?” Marcus asks, dropping to his knees in front of Tomás. “A vision?” Fear is gripping at his chest as he raises a hand to Tomás’s cheek.

“No.” Tomás’s voice is small. He shrugs, avoiding Marcus’s eyes. “I just…” He sighs. “I got scared,” he admits. “I don’t—I don’t want to be alone.”

Marcus’s heart starts to slow a bit, though not by much. The pounding now is different than when Tomás called out. But now isn’t the time to be giddy about Tomás calling for him when he didn’t want to be alone; he can see fear in Tomás’s eyes, across his face, and it’s making his stomach ache.

“What happened to you?” Olivia asks from the doorway, voice choked and eyes wide and scared. “Tomás?”

Tomás’s eyes slide shut as if he’s in pain. “Olivia.”

“No, Tomás, I can see something bad happened.” She comes closer and sits beside Tomás on the bed. Marcus is still kneeling in front of Tomás and snatches his hand from Tomás’s face like he’s been caught in the cookie jar. In a way, he has. Marcus gets to his feet with a creaking in his knees and retreats to lean against the wall, arms crossed. This is probably a private moment between brother and sister, but he’s not willing to leave Tomás right now unless Tomás asks him to.

Tomás exhales softly. He looks down at his hands instead of at his sister. “I was possessed,” he says steadily.

Olivia doesn’t say anything for a long, long pause. It feels like an age but can’t be more than mere seconds, realistically. “By a demon,” she says flatly. She might mean it as a question.

“Yes,” Tomás says.

Olivia looks at Marcus. “What.”

“He was,” Marcus confirms. “You heard rumors about the Rance girl, didn’t you? The demon rumors? They were true. Tomás got rid of that demon, and that’s why we left. To exorcise others.”

Olivia is looking back and forth between Marcus and Tomás like she’s waiting for one of them to crack, to start laughing and tell her it’s a prank. “Exorcisms?”

“I know it sounds—”

“Did you exorcise the Pope?” A choking laugh follows her words. “Was that why you met him? Was he…was he possessed too?”

“No,” Tomás says. “But most everyone else in the Vatican was. We had to protect him.”

Olivia starts laughing uncontrollably, the shrill, high laugh of panic. “You’re telling me my brother became an exorcist, got possessed by a demon, and then also saved the Pope?”

“He saved the Church itself,” Marcus says quietly.

“ _We_ did,” Tomás corrects, just as quietly.

Olivia’s laughter cuts off abruptly and she stands, stepping closer to Marcus with a menacing glare. “What did you do to my brother?”

Marcus is used to this, has faced this in nearly every exorcism he’s preformed. It feels harsher now, though, when she never saw the possession, when the exorcism’s long over. _When it’s Tomás’s family_ , he doesn’t let himself think.

“Did you—did you get him into drugs or something? I knew Tomás wouldn’t have just _left_ like that, so you must have gotten him involved in something; how did you trick him like that?” She’s jabbing a finger into Marcus’s chest and Marcus doesn’t move. He is so, so exhausted.

“Olivia,” Tomás says sharply. “Stop.”

Olivia is panting, worry and incredulity making her start to sweat a little. The same thing happens to Tomás. It almost makes Marcus want to smile.

“Tomás, you can’t really believe…?” She’s begging now.

Tomás reaches out his hand, too weary to stand, and Olivia goes back to him. He pulls her down to sit beside him again and she rests her head on his shoulder. “It’s true, Olivia.”

“I thought those were just stories,” Olivia says wetly. “I thought Abuela was silly for believing that kind of thing.”

“I did too,” Tomás tells her tiredly. “Until I saw it.”

Olivia is crying now, but softly. Marcus is almost amazed at how quickly she’s accepted this as truth without seeing it firsthand. But she has no reason to doubt Tomás, and it’s clear from looking at him something horrible happened.

“Did it hurt?” She asks. It’s innocent, the kind of question only someone who’s never seen a possession could ask. Anyone who’s witnessed it doesn’t have to ask.

Tomás purses his lips. He looks up at Marcus, who shrugs. He doesn’t know what Tomás should tell her. It’s up to Tomás how much he wants to reveal. Tomás smooths a hand over Olivia’s hair.

“Yes,” he says simply. He doesn’t say anything about how demons burn through the host body as long as the person resists, doesn’t mention hallucinations and twisted dreams and bastardized versions of his heart’s desires. He doesn’t bring up the visions he’d been having for almost a year, the ones that often left him retching with the pain in his head and the gore of what he’d seen. He doesn’t tell her exorcising a demon is painful, too, physically and psychologically. He could roll up his sleeves and show her all the scars he’s gained, could point to Marcus’s entire body as proof of that. He doesn’t. Marcus knows he doesn’t want Olivia to know. He wants to spare her the reality of it all.

“You’re okay now?” Olivia checks. Tomás looks to Marcus again. Marcus can feel tears in his eyes. Tomás is not okay now. He may never be okay again. He hasn’t had a full night’s rest in probably at least eight months, even before a demon took residence in his body, and he likely won’t for a very long time.

“I will be,” Tomás says instead of answering her actual question. Olivia understands the dodge for what it is, and it makes her face crumple in pain.

“Tomás,” she breathes.

“It’s alright,” he soothes. “I’m here now.”

Marcus would like to snap at Olivia that she should not be asking Tomás for comfort now. Tomás needs _their_ comfort, needs to save every shred of emotional strength he can for himself. Marcus wants to peel her from Tomás’s side and shake her until her teeth rattle because she’s so naïve, so demanding of Tomás right now, and she’s not even noticing how tired and sick Tomás looks.

Marcus takes a deep breath in through his nose, clenching his fists tight and digging his ragged, chewed-off nails into his palms. She is Tomás’s sister. Tomás would never refuse anyone who needed his comfort, but especially not Olivia. And besides that: she is an innocent. They should be glad she doesn’t understand.

“He needs to rest,” Marcus says, voice completely controlled. “He hasn’t slept in almost twenty-four hours.” It’s not the worst they’ve faced, but in his current state, it’s very bad. He’d been too afraid of visions or nightmares to fall asleep on the plane, not wanting to cause a disturbance or draw attention to them. He’s barely managing to stay upright, especially with Olivia leaning against him.

Olivia pushes away from Tomás and dashes at her eyes, drags a hand across her nose the same way Tomás does. “Yes, okay, of course.” She pats Tomás’s leg. “I’m going to make you something. Do you want…I just had some leftovers I was going to heat up but I’ll make soup. I’ll make Abuela’s caldo de pollo, how does that sound? And, oh, um.” She bites her lip. “So is the…is the egg thing real? For the mal de ojo? I thought that was Abuela being crazy, too, but I can go get an egg right now if…” She trails off and makes a face at herself like she thinks she’s being silly.

Marcus tuts a little. “We should never discount age-old rituals,” he tells her. “Eggs going off really can be a sign of demonic activity.”

Olivia’s eyes are very wide. “It can?”

“Olivia,” Tomás says gently. “I am not possessed anymore. Marcus exorcised me. And if anything comes back, he’s right here. He won’t need an egg to tell if something’s back. He will be able to tell. And he can do it again.”

Marcus isn’t entirely sure that’s the truth. It nearly killed him the first time. Hearing Tomás crying out in pain, the taunts from the demon in Tomás’s voice, the burns and bruises on Tomás’s skin that Marcus had to add to with holy water and crucifixes, watching Mouse try to keep her features under control while she went through exorcising a friend, too. Not to mention it was by far the longest exorcism Marcus has ever even _heard_ about, much less performed. But Olivia looks at him and Marcus nods. If Tomás is possessed again, Marcus will damn well die before he lets him stay that way.

“You’re staying, right?” She asks Marcus, almost childish in her worry for her brother.

“He is,” Tomás says. But Olivia doesn’t take her eyes off Marcus; she doesn’t have her brother’s faith, and Marcus knows he doesn’t exactly have the look of a man who sticks around.

Marcus nods at her again. “I won’t leave until he asks me to.”

Olivia nods back, satisfied. She stands again, slower, tired now. She presses a shaky hand to the top of Tomás’s head and then replaces her hand with her lips, giving him a tender kiss that makes Tomás screw his eyes shut again.

“Go to sleep,” she whispers into Tomás’s hair. “I’ll bring in the soup when it’s done.”

She closes the door behind her with a last glance back at Tomás. Tomás sighs and lies back on the bed, curling his legs up beneath him like he’s trying to be smaller. “She can’t make Abuela’s caldo de pollo,” he mumbles. “Not right now. It takes…it takes hours. Abuelita used to start it early in the morning, before I even woke up. You have to roast a whole chicken first. She’s going to use the chicken they cook at the store and the fake chicken broth.” He wrinkles his nose, cranky like he won’t let himself be to Olivia. “It’s not as good and she’s never been good at making it.”

It makes Marcus snort. “It doesn’t just come in a can?”

“Blasphemy,” Tomás warns. He pats the bed. “You should rest, too.”

Marcus doesn’t need to be asked twice. His whole body is beginning to droop. They normally have some time to rest between exorcisms, but after Tomás they’d gone straight to Rome for Bennett and everyone else. He doesn’t let himself worry too hard what Olivia will think if she sees them, just kicks off his shoes and his jacket and gingerly lowers himself down beside Tomás. Tomás immediately rolls closer into Marcus’s side, fisting a hand at the collar of Marcus’s shirt so his knuckles brush against Marcus’s skin. Marcus runs a hand methodically through Tomás’s hair.

They’d been tactile before, but nothing compared to how they’ve been since reuniting. Marcus touched Tomás constantly during the three-week ordeal of the exorcism, wiping grime from his face, helping him drink, stroking his hair to try to coax him up to the surface and out of the demon’s clutches, and he’s not sure they’ve stopped touching since. Tomás needs something to ground him, to remind him he’s really here, and Marcus is a greedy bastard who’ll take whatever Tomás will give him.

“You didn’t want to be a priest again,” Tomás slurs sleepily into Marcus’s shoulder.

“I didn’t,” Marcus agrees, eyes closed. “I think that part of my life is over.”

They settle down, quiet again. After a few minutes of slow breathing, Tomás whispers, “I don’t know if I want to be a priest anymore, either.”

Marcus’s eyes snap open. “What?”

But Tomás is asleep, breathing hot against Marcus’s neck. Marcus won’t wake him, not when he’s finally sleeping, but Marcus is wide awake now. His mind races. Did Tomás mean it? Is he actually doubting his vows or is it just the kind of thing young priests say sometimes, the joke that can only be shared with others in the cloth? Yes, Tomás strayed with Jessica, but he’d been even more determined after, more devoted. Marcus hopes it’s not some kind of unworthiness Tomás feels because of the possession. It wasn’t Tomás’s fault, and he is not unclean. Marcus will fight Tomás himself over that point if need be.

There’s another part of Marcus that is blindly terrified this is his fault, that he’s corrupted Tomás somehow. Marcus leaves destruction in his wake, always has, and the idea that just being _near_ him has shaken Tomás from his vows is sending Marcus’s heart up to his throat. He squeezes his eyes closed, trying to focus on Tomás’s steady breathing. Marcus needs to sleep, too. His body is aching with exhaustion. He’s not a young man anymore, and his body has taken more abuse than his years let on. He needs to rest; he needs to heal.

But his mind won’t stop. He remembers every time a demon told him he’d break Tomás and swallows down bile. He’d thought the possession fulfilled those prophecies. He’d thought, foolishly, he’d been through it already. He’d thought he’d _saved_ Tomás.

Now he knows he should never have given himself so much credit.

Marcus does sleep, eventually, fatigue finally winning out over his spinning thoughts, and they end up taking Olivia’s bed after all, because they sleep on through the night. Marcus wakes with a start at some point, knowing immediately he’s being watched.

It’s just Luis, peering down into Tomás’s face. Marcus raises a finger to his lips to remind the boy to stay quiet. Luis nods solemnly. In sleep, Tomás looks well and truly ill. He’s ashen and sweating and there’s a furrow between his eyebrows that doesn’t speak of pleasant dreams. His chapped lips are slightly parted, like he’s ready to scream any minute. Marcus gently extricates himself from Tomás and slides off the bed. He comes around and guides Luis out of the room with a hand on his shoulder. He waits to speak until they’ve closed the door quietly behind themselves.

“He’s alright,” he tells Luis, which is something of a lie, but _alright_ is a relative term these days and compared to what he has been, Tomás is alright now. “Just needs to sleep.”

“My mom said he’s sick,” Luis says. “Is he sick like regular sick or sick like cancer like my abuela had?”

Marcus shakes his head. He’d known Tomás’s mother died at some point. He hadn’t known it was cancer. That seems to be a pattern in the maternal figures in Tomás’s life.

“It’s not cancer. He’s alright,” Marcus repeats, because he’d been about to say, _he’s regular sick_ but couldn’t quite bring himself to tack on another lie. It’s pitch dark outside, and with a glance at the clock on the wall he sees it’s three am. “What are you doing awake?”

“I couldn’t sleep,” Luis admits. “I wanted to make sure Uncle Tomás was okay.”

“Is your mum in your bed?” Marcus asks, feeling guilty. He doesn’t feel guilty for Tomás getting a good night’s rest, but he feels a little guilty that they’d passed out so hard in her bed. She’d obviously been unwilling to wake them to take it back.

“Yeah, and she snores,” Luis reveals mournfully. It pulls a laugh from Marcus.

“Well, what do you say we make you a bed out here,” Marcus suggests. “You’re getting pretty tall, but I think the couch cushions are long enough to make do for a night.”

“Can we make a fort?” Luis asks. He blushes a little and hunches into himself. “I’m too old for that.”

“How old are you?” Marcus asks.

“Eleven and a half.”

Marcus shakes his head. “It’s alright,” he says solemnly. “You’re just under the cut-off. But soon’s you hit twelve? No more forts for you.”

Luis snorts, old enough to know when he’s being bullshitted but still young enough to enjoy it. “Okay.”

Marcus isn’t privy to the latest fort-making advancements, so Luis directs him in slightly too-loud whispers about where to put the couch cushions and which blankets to put where and the role of the kitchen chairs in the affair. Tomás has mentioned Luis is shy sometimes around strangers, but either now is not one of those times or Marcus doesn’t count as a stranger, because Luis is having no trouble bossing Marcus around. It’s short work, and Luis settles happily into his little tent when they’re done. Marcus crouches by the entrance.

“Goodnight,” he says.

“Goodnight,” Luis answers. “Um. Father Marcus?”

“Yes?” Marcus doesn’t bother correcting him.

“Why are you sharing a bed with Uncle Tomás?” It’s clear Luis has been holding this question in for a while. Perhaps he asked his mother and didn’t get a satisfactory answer. Marcus sighs a little. He doesn’t lie to children when he can help it, but there’s no way to tell the truth without bringing demons into it, and that’s certainly not something Marcus is getting into with an unpossessed eleven-year-old at three am without his mother’s blessing.

“Tomás and I had to share a bed sometimes while we were…away,” Marcus finally says. “And I guess we just got used to it.”

“Oh.” Luis contemplates that. “My mom and I used to just have one bed,” he says. “And when we moved here and I had my own bed and my own room for the first time it was kind of scary for a little while.” He makes a little face as he says it, getting to the age where admitting to being afraid is far beyond cool.

“I’ll bet,” Marcus agrees. “I’ve never had my own room.” He’s never, technically, _had a room_ , period. He’s stayed places, but he’s never really _lived_ anywhere, except at the boys’ home and then those early days with Father Sean where he shared a room with the other orphan boys in training like him. Even when his parents were alive, they were poor enough that Marcus didn’t have a room, just slept out in the sitting room like this. He’d never had a fort out of cushions, though.

“ _Never_?” Luis asks incredulously. “But you’re so old!”

Marcus huffs at the candor. “I know. And now I’m not sure I’d know what to do with my own room.”

“It’s pretty nice,” Luis tells him. “If you get a flashlight you can read comic books late and no one will know.”

It’s one of the most sweetly innocent things Marcus has ever heard and for a second it steals his breath. He’s not used to interacting with children untouched by demons. And of _course_ Tomás’s nephew is the kind of child who wants to stay up late to read.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Marcus promises. “If I ever get my own room.”

Luis nods, eyes starting to get heavy. Marcus waggles his fingers a little, a silent good night, and Luis waves back sleepily. Marcus is shockingly, painfully hungry, and his skin feels itchy without knowing the complete lay of the land in Olivia’s apartment, but now he’s just set Luis up in the living room and prowling around the house will probably keep him up. He ignores the pangs in his stomach and goes back to the bedroom down the hall after a quick detour in the bathroom.

Tomás has rolled over, into the spot Marcus vacated, a hand flat on the bedspread in lieu of resting on Marcus’s chest. Olivia must have come in at some point, because the promised soup is cold and a bit congealed on the nightstand. Marcus eats most of it anyway. Tomás isn’t going to wake up before breakfast, not at this rate, and even cold, the soup is better than what Marcus has had in ages. There are two glasses of water on the bedside table on the other side, too, and Marcus drains one quickly.

He slips back in beside Tomás, halfway _beneath_ Tomás, and Tomás burrows closer, mumbling quiet nonsense into Marcus’s shoulder. Marcus’s cheeks heat as he considers what Olivia must have seen when she brought in the food. He tells himself not to think about it, reminds himself that Tomás needs him, needs to be anchored right now. That’s all this is, just comfort for Tomás.

Marcus rests his cheek on top of Tomás’s head and thinks _liar, liar, liar_.

When Tomás finally wakes up, it’s nearly seven am and he’s been asleep for almost fourteen hours. Marcus didn’t think he’d get back to sleep after the fort-making with Luis but he must have, because he’d jerked awake at five thirty thinking he had to find Tomás. But Tomás had been right there curled up against his side, drooling slightly into his ribs, and Marcus had stared at the ceiling resolutely thinking nothing for an hour and a half.

But now Tomás’s breathing changes and he kicks one leg the way he always does when he’s waking up. Marcus marvels at this knowledge. He knows what Tomás does when he’s waking up. Tomás licks his lips and cracks open one eye.

“¿Qué hora es?” He mumbles, still half-asleep and disoriented enough not to switch to English for Marcus’s sake.

“Nearly seven,” Marcus says.

Tomás opens both eyes. “Where…” He blinks as he takes in Olivia’s room. “Oh.”

“Chicago,” Marcus reminds him gently.

“Yeah,” Tomás says. He rubs his face against Marcus’s side and yawns. “Morning?” He checks.

Marcus laughs. “Yes, morning. You slept yesterday away and all through the night.”

Tomás hums. “And you?”

“I slept,” Marcus promises. “Almost as much. Ready to eat something?”

“Mm.” Tomás traces a finger, feather-light, across Marcus’s stomach. It doesn’t quite tickle. “I feel like I got hit by a truck.”

Marcus snorts. “That’d certainly be easier to explain.”

“Maybe it’s just jet lag,” Tomás says, smile in his voice. “I did fly to Rome and back in less than four days.”

“Oh, right, I’m sure that’s it,” Marcus says. “Nothing else.” Tomás huffs a little laugh. He’d curled almost into a ball in his sleep, and he’s straightening out slowly, wincing a little as sore muscles unfold.

“I didn’t mean to take Olivia’s bed,” Tomás says guiltily. Marcus passes a fond hand over Tomás’s head.

“I don’t think she minds.”

Tomás yawns again. He pulls himself up to rest his head beside Marcus’s instead of lying pillowed on Marcus’s abdomen. “It feels strange to not have anything to do.”

“I know.” Marcus winds his arm around Tomás’s waist, because he’s there. He wonders if he should bring up what Tomás had said yesterday before he fell asleep. But then Tomás’s stomach gives off a growl so loud it makes them both jump, and he decides to set that aside for now. Tomás laughs out loud.

“I guess I _am_ ready to eat.”

“A bit afraid you’ll start taking bites out of me soon,” Marcus jokes unthinkingly. The smile drops off Tomás’s face and Marcus swallows hard. Right. Tomás _had_ bitten Marcus, more than once, during the exorcism. Marcus has the pattern of Tomás’s teeth fading on his arm and his shoulder. Marcus squeezes Tomás closer, apologizing silently.

“Well,” Tomás says. Marcus nods. Tomás taps his thumb against Marcus’s cheek, just once, and then they get up and head down the hall on unsteady legs. Tomás goes straight to the bathroom and Marcus finds Olivia in the kitchen, starting the coffee maker. She raises her eyebrows when she sees Marcus.

“Good morning,” she says, something unsure in her voice as she takes a seat at the table. Marcus doesn’t know if it’s all the exorcism business or the fact that she saw him in bed with her brother. _It’s innocent_ , Marcus wants to assure her. _Nothing so—so carnal_. But that’s not wholly true, is it? Not for him.

“Good morning,” he says instead. He glances toward the living room. Olivia cracks a smile.

“I guess Luis got up and made a fort last night,” she says with a little laugh. Marcus just nods, feeling awkward that he already knows this, that _he’d_ been the one to make the fort. “But don’t worry, he sleeps like the dead. We won’t wake him.”

Tomás comes in then, walking slowly like he’s in pain, and Marcus frowns. Tomás waves a hand at him before he can even fuss.

“Morning,” he says.

“Morning.” Olivia follows Tomás all around the kitchen with her eyes. He gets down two mugs and pours coffee. To one, he adds just creamer, and Marcus’s throat sticks for a second at this display of domesticity. That’s for him. Marcus puts only creamer in his coffee, no sugar. It’s not like this is the first time Tomás has brought him coffee. But something about doing it right here in Olivia’s apartment feels bigger than picking something up at a gas station or the lobby of whatever shithole they’re sleeping in. Marcus accepts his mug with a nod of thanks and Olivia watches that, too, watches the way her brother knows how Marcus takes his coffee and makes it for him instinctively, glances at the point where their shoulders brush together while they stand side-by-side and sip.

“Sit down,” she says to them both as she rises. “I’ll make you some breakfast.”

“Olivia, it’s okay,” Tomás starts to protest. She pins him with a look.

“Tomás, sit down,” she repeats, firmer this time. “You show up after almost a _year_ looking half-dead, you sleep for a whole day, and you think I’m not going to make you sit and let me feed you?”

Tomás sits obediently. “It wasn’t a whole day,” he mutters. Marcus rolls his eyes and takes the chair beside him.

“Choose your battles, mate,” he advises.

“Do you want eggs or oatmeal?” Olivia asks. “I don’t really have anything else, except cereal. Since I _wasn’t_ _expecting_ company.”

Tomás hunches a little, cowed. “Eggs, please,” he requests meekly.

“Marcus?” Olivia asks. Marcus almost starts, surprised to hear her say his name.

“Oh. Um. Eggs. Please. Thank you.”

Tomás looks amused. “Very polite this morning.” He glances over into the living room and raises his eyebrows. “Luis slept in a fort?”

“He says I snore,” Olivia reports, rolling her eyes.

“Well, that is because you do.” Their words have the ease of a practiced routine, a well-known bit. It’s the kind of thing that puts an ache in Marcus’s throat, the teasing inside jokes between people who care about each other. He’s never had that.

“Are you working today?” Tomás asks Olivia.

“I took the day off.” She doesn’t turn around as she says it. Tomás immediately shakes his head.

“No, no, Olivia, don’t,” he says. “You need that job.”

“Tomás, it’s fine. It’s just a day off.”

“But—” He starts. Olivia turns around from cracking eggs and brandishes a fork at him.

“Tomás! It’s really just a day off. I have a permanent job now. I’m allowed to take sick days. And I’m keeping Luis home from school, too. He’s too excited to leave you.”

Tomás sighs. “I feel bad.”

“Well, don’t,” Olivia orders. Marcus rests his hand on Tomás’s knee, under the table and out of sight. He’s so uncomfortable with Olivia noticing the way they touch. He knows why he’s so uncomfortable with it, and he knows he’s inventing most of the trouble he’s imagining, but he can’t shake the fact that Olivia is deeply mistrustful of him and can’t be happy to see how easily her brother folds into him. But he also can’t help the way his whole body gets light when he feels Tomás’s tense muscles relax under his hand. He feels like a schoolboy, wanting to crow on the playground about a new trick he’s learned. _See what I can do!_

“When are you meeting with the auxiliary bishop?” Marcus asks. Tomás’s brow creases.

“Tomorrow.” There’s a warning in his voice telling Marcus not to pull that thread right now. So Tomás _does_ remember what he’d said. Guilt sits heavy in Marcus’s stomach and he doesn’t want to eat anymore.

“Are they going to give you a new parish?” Olivia asks from the stove.

Tomás runs a hand over his face, looking weary. “I don’t know.”

“But you saved the Pope,” Olivia reasons. “A new parish is the least they could do.”

Tomás is about to snap. Marcus can see it on his face, the way he’s biting at his lower lip. He’s about to say something sharp and angry that he’ll regret later, even if it’s true. Marcus squeezes Tomás’s leg again.

“Sometimes the politics of the Church aren’t logical,” Marcus tells her. “And exorcists tend to be…” He searches for an appropriate word.

“Shunned,” Tomás supplies quietly, looking at Marcus. “Mistreated by the Church.”

Olivia looks at Marcus now, too, brow furrowed. “Mistreated?”

“Abandoned,” Toms spits, shaking his head angrily. Marcus gives his leg another squeeze, silently begging him to calm down. Marcus can handle outbursts, but he feels sure Olivia isn’t used to seeing Tomás that way, and even surer Tomás doesn’t want her to see it. Tomás takes a long, steady breath and nods at Marcus.

“Let’s not worry about all that,” Marcus says, reaching for brightness in his voice. He’s never really been good at that, at smoothing over uncomfortable silences, but he’ll try to pick up the slack Tomás usually carries.

Olivia looks for a second like she wants to argue, but her eyes cut over to Tomás and then she nods firmly. “Eggs,” she says, coming over and dumping half the pan onto Tomás’s plate. “Eat them all. You look skinny.”

“He sure weighs a ton,” Marcus grumbles teasingly. “Had to drag him by his ankles more than once when he was knocked out.”

The spoon Olivia’s holding drops with a clatter and Marcus curses internally. He shouldn’t have mentioned Tomás being unconscious. He and Tomás joke about exorcisms sometimes, but to someone who doesn’t find it normal to have bitemark scars from demons, it probably sounds terrible. Especially when it’s her brother he’s casually mentioning dragging around. Olivia doesn’t say anything, doesn’t start with the waterworks again, thank God. She picks up the spoon and puts eggs on Marcus’s plate, lips tight.

“I’ll make more for Luis when he wakes up,” Tomás offers.

“He’ll probably just want Pop Tarts,” Olivia says with a huff.

“You didn’t tell me you had Pop Tarts,” Tomás accuses with a grin. “You were hiding them from me.”

“That’s because you’re too old to eat Pop Tarts,” Olivia reminds him. This, again, sounds like well-worn ground. Marcus is all too familiar with Pop Tarts, a life of gas stations and quick stops treating him to a vast knowledge of all the portable foods America has to offer. He’s always found them too saccharine and chemical, but he knows Tomás is just about mad for the strawberry ones.

The next thing they hear is Luis’s sleepy voice, muffled by the blankets and cushions of his fort. “We have Pop Tarts?”

It makes both Olivia and Tomás laugh, and something tight in Marcus’s chest eases just a little.

Marcus doesn’t know how they’re going to have a private conversation about Tomás’s plans when they’re staying with Olivia and Luis. Neither of them seem to want Tomás out of their sight, and it’s not like Marcus can blame them. He knows too well that choking feeling that comes from worrying you’ll never see Tomás again. It isn’t pleasant.

“Fancy a walk?” Marcus finally murmurs into Tomás’s ear. From the look on Tomás’s face, Marcus knows Tomás can tell why Marcus is asking, but he only sighs reluctantly once before telling Olivia and Luis they’ll be back soon.

“Where are you going?” Luis asks, eyes going round.

“Just for a walk,” Tomás soothes, running a hand over Luis’s hair.

“Can I come?” Luis pleads.

“Luis,” Olivia cuts in. “You have some homework you were supposed to do yesterday.” She’s looking suspiciously between Marcus and Tomás and Marcus realizes, stomach dropping, she thinks they need privacy for…something Marcus can’t afford to think about. Not now. But Tomás is shuffling around, finding his shoes, and Luis is grumbling but pulling out his backpack, so Marcus swallows hard and harangues Tomás into a jacket, too, because it’s not quite fully spring and there’s a chill in the wind and Olivia wasn’t joking about him looking skinny. He’s lost weight. Marcus can count his ribs when he changes his shirt, a stark contrast to when they first met.

Neither of them speak until they’re halfway down the street, hands stuffed in their pockets as they amble. Predictably, Marcus breaks first. His skin feels like it’s itching, the restless need to do something, figure things out.

“Well?” He says.

Tomás raises his eyebrows. “Well?” He parrots. “You are the one who asked to go for a walk.”

“Don’t play dumb, Tomás,” Marcus says sharply. “You know what I’m on about.”

Tomás sighs. “Is it so unbelievable?”

“Yes, a bit,” Marcus insists. “Tomás, this is everything you wanted!”

“Is it?” Tomás asks bitterly.

“You tell me,” Marcus says, exasperated. “I thought all you ever wanted was to be a priest.”

“All I ever wanted was to be useful to God,” Tomás corrects.

“And you have been,” Marcus reminds him. “Incredibly.”

“After breaking my vows,” Tomás mutters, glancing around. “After—while I let demons in my head. I never felt the power of God until we did that work, and you obviously have that power even without being a priest. So it’s not so necessary after all.”

Marcus shakes his head, aghast. “It can’t just be that.”

Tomás sighs yet again and leads Marcus into a little neighborhood park. There’s a woman pushing a pram as she jogs and an old couple throwing bread crusts at a group of pigeons. Tomás presses a hand to Marcus’s back to guide him to a bench and Marcus ignores the fluttering in his stupid, traitorous stomach.

“I am not a good priest,” Tomás says.

“That’s not true,” Marcus protests, incredulous. “Of course you are. Your parishioners loved you at St. Anthony’s. They trusted you. And the Church did too. The rising star and all that.”

“Exactly,” Tomás hisses. “There is too much corruption, Marcus. The politics of it all. All those in the Vatican did not _start_ as demons. Those were people tasked with loving God and leading the people and look what they did. They just wanted power.” He shakes his head, slumping further on the bench. “I can’t trust any of them.”

Marcus doesn’t say anything for a minute. His head is spinning. “So because some are evil, you’re done?”

Tomás tips his head back to look up at the gray sky. “I don’t have to be a priest to do good for God,” he says. “That is all I’ve ever wanted. And I can’t think God meant for me to be on guard and looking over my shoulder forever as I try to serve Him.” He swallows hard. “And besides. It wasn’t demons who bought you and raised you this way just to excommunicate you and throw you away like nothing.”

Marcus absorbs that, breath stuttering away. “You can’t…” His voice is hardly a whisper. “Tomás, you can’t mean—” Tomás can’t throw away his entire life over what’s already happened to Marcus. Making a last stand out of history doesn’t seem wise.

“What they did to you was wrong,” Tomás says steadily. “And you weren’t the only one they’ve hurt. There isn’t enough compassion. And I thought if I was a priest, I could change that. But I can’t, Marcus. Not to enough people. There are too many rules I have to follow, too many games they want me to play if I want to get to a position to change anything.” He shakes his head. “I don’t want to turn into one of those people. I can do the Lord’s work without the vows.”

Marcus leans back on the bench. He’d like to tell Tomás there’s no way he’ll become one of those people, but he can see Tomás won’t believe him right now. “Will you at least take time to think about it?” He asks softly. “Please, Tomás, don’t make any decision just yet.”

Tomás meets his eyes. He doesn’t look like this is a snap decision, but Marcus can’t imagine Tomás without the collar. He’ll still, technically, be a priest, even if he requests laicization, but he won’t have a congregation, won’t hold Mass, won’t hear confession. All of these things are important to Tomás. Marcus learned that early on. But Tomás looks confident. He looks like his mind is made up.

“I’ll think about it,” he relents. He puts his arm around Marcus’s shoulders and gives him a gentle shake.

“Will you talk to Olivia about it?” Marcus asks.

Tomás makes a face. “She’ll say I told you so.”

That startles a bark of laughter out of Marcus. “She didn’t want you to be a priest?”

“She always thought _I_ didn’t want to be a priest. I never felt any calling from God or anything like that. And with Jessica…” He trails off. “Olivia has told me more than once I should request to be released. She wants me to get married and have babies for Luis to babysit.”

Marcus pushes down the squiggly feeling in his stomach at that thought. “Still not supposed to break the celibacy vow,” Marcus points out to quiet his pounding heart.

Tomás raises an eyebrow slyly. “I broke that vow when I _was_ a priest. What makes you think I’d stick to it once I’m not?” Marcus’s heart is not slowing its pounding. He feels tongue-tied. And it doesn’t help when Tomás leans closer and says, “All it takes is approval from the Pope. And I might know a guy who thinks he owes me a favor.”

The idea that Tomás is going to ask Pope Sebastian to let him have sex is giving Marcus very conflicted thoughts. He can’t decide if he’s horrified or delighted that Tomás is even suggesting it, even if the chances of him cashing in that favor, especially for that, are almost nothing. He’s also a bit concerned to hear Tomás cracking jokes about breaking his vows. It’s not exactly something he’s ever laughed about before. “What will you do if you do request it?” He asks instead of dwelling on the idea. “You’ll have to get a regular job.”

Tomás shrugs. “I minored in social work in college,” he says. “And I’ve been told I’m a pretty good listener.”

Marcus huffs. “Have you now?”

Tomás nods, laughing a little. “Maybe I could do something with that. There’s a lot of human evil in this world. Not just demons.”

Marcus presses their shoulders closer together, trying not to see his mother’s brain matter on the kitchen floor. “Yeah,” he says dryly. “So I’ve heard.”

“But you never told me why you didn’t take Bennett’s offer,” Tomás says.

Marcus watches the old couple with their bread and their birds. “I was devastated when they took my collar,” he says softly. It’s unnecessary to say it; Tomás was there. “The Church was the only place I ever felt I belonged. And they took that away. But then I realized…well, you’re the one who said it. You told me I was excommunicated from the Church, not from God. And then I remembered I felt that belonging long before I took my vows. It was the exorcisms that I belonged to. It was God. And, well.” Marcus can feel himself blushing a little, thinking of kissing Peter, that hopeful feeling of promise as he stared across that bar at that man who was smiling at him. “I’ve enjoyed some freedoms.”

Tomás is looking at him intently. “That’s what I’m feeling,” he says. “I still belong to God.”

“You missed taking confession while we were out doing exorcisms,” Marcus reminds him. “You told me you did.”

“I do like confession,” Tomás admits. “But that can’t be the only reason I stay.”

Marcus feels like he’s in over his head. It feels hypocritical of him to push Tomás to stay a priest, but he can’t imagine Tomás _really_ wants to leave. It must be some kind of response to being possessed, but he’s a little afraid to broach the subject out here in a neighborhood park.

“Just take your time to think it over,” Marcus says.

“I will,” Tomás promises.

When they get back to Olivia’s apartment, Luis is at the kitchen table poring over a math worksheet and Olivia is painting her nails in the living room.

“Uncle Tomás!” Luis shouts when they come in, still a bit worried Tomás is going to disappear into the wind again. Tomás goes to him and tousles his hair

“Hey, chaparro.”

“Can you help me with fractions?” Luis requests.

“I would love to,” Tomás says, taking a seat beside him at the table. It leaves Marcus at loose ends again. He’s certainly not going to be any help for Luis; he’s not had much formal education, and fractions are definitely beyond him. But he doesn’t know what to _do_ with himself. He’s never had time to sit and not think about the next place, the next exorcism. And yes, there are still demons out there, the regular, low-grade kind Marcus has been fighting his whole life. Yes, they could keep going around and finding them, hunting them. But Tomás needs rest, first and foremost, and the thought of leaving, going out on his own to fight a demon without Tomás beside him, makes Marcus’s stomach clench. Even the thought of doing an exorcism _with_ Tomás, having Tomás anywhere near another demon, makes Marcus feel a bit faint.

“Marcus, how are you with painting?” Olivia asks. “I can’t do my right hand myself.”

“Um,” Marcus says eloquently.

“He’s great,” Tomás says distractedly. “You should see his drawings.”

“Drawing’s a bit different than nail varnish,” Marcus allows, cheeks heating pleasantly at Tomás’s praise. Marcus would like to know just when he became such a puppy, begging for affection.

“Do you mind?” Olivia asks. Marcus sits down across from her and she hands him the polish and then offers her hand. He feels clumsy. She’s watching him, and he feels like her request for help was a ruse for this very purpose. “So. How long have you been an exorcist?”

He almost blotches her nail in his surprise, but he saves it at the last moment. From the table, Tomás says warningly, “Olivia.”

“It’s okay,” Marcus says. “Natural question. I get it a lot. It’s been…well, almost my whole life. Since I was about Luis’s age.”

Olivia’s eyebrows shoot up to her hairline. “What? That’s so young.” Marcus nods, unsure what response he’s expected to give to that. “How did you become an exorcist so young?”

Marcus breathes deeply through his nose despite the harsh smell of the nail polish.

“Olivia,” Tomás says again, sharper this time. Marcus waves him off again.

“I was an orphan,” Marcus says evenly, choosing to cut out the beginning portion of his history. “And I was raised by the Church. For that purpose.”

Olivia’s open-mouthed now. “They raised you to be an exorcist?”

“They did,” Marcus says. “Me and many other orphan boys. And I turned out to have a knack for it, so it stuck.”

“But you weren’t doing real exorcisms at Luis’s age, were you?” Olivia’s voice is tight.

“I started when I was twelve,” Marcus says. Olivia takes a sharp breath.

“That is _not_ the kind of thing a child should see,” she says hotly, angry even though she hasn’t seen a possession herself. If she’s anything like her brother, she probably researched the minute they told her demons were real. “That’s wrong.”

It’s the same kind of thing Tomás says, the same sentiment he has when his jaw clenches whenever Marcus’s past comes up. It makes Marcus’s heart beat funny. Tomás, at least, has some bond with him, an affection to explain the anger. Olivia doesn’t even know him. But she’s looking over at Luis, probably imagining him having to face down a demon, and a cruel part of Marcus wants to tell her she has no idea, that her mind cannot comprehend the horrors he’d stared down before he even hit puberty. He only shrugs, though. He’d found a purpose, in God, and that’s what’s always mattered.

“I survived,” is all Marcus can think to say. It’s kind of an odd thing to say, actually. A bit closer to the truth than he usually gets—surviving instead of anything happier, more substantial. Tomás makes an unhappy noise from the table and Marcus chooses not to dwell on that. He keeps his focus on Olivia’s clean fingernails. He tries not to look too closely at his own; there’s probably years’ worth of grime under them. Demon sludge, regular dirt, engine oil. Probably some blood. Marcus is the kind of dirty that would take several months to clean away. It’s never bothered him too much, since he’s always been moving from one exorcism to the next, but seeing the contrast between their hands is making his throat a little tight.

He’d like to slink away somewhere, clear his head by himself, but there’s nowhere to go. If he went back outside for another walk, Tomás would follow him, and their walk earlier left him tired. Marcus can see him struggling to stay awake right now with Luis. And Marcus made a promise to himself to quit running away like that. It’s what got them into the whole mess with Tomás getting possessed. But thinking about that makes Andy’s face flash through his mind, his blank, unseeing eyes after Marcus put a bullet in his head, and Marcus has to swallow hard a few times to stay calm.

Olivia inspects her nails after Marcus finishes and grants him a smile, no tinge of unease or suspicion in it this time. “Perfect,” she says softly, and it’s gentle and makes a part of Marcus want to hide his face. “Thank you.”

Marcus just nods. “Not a problem,” he manages to say.

“I think I need a nap,” Tomás suddenly declares. “Luis, would it be alright if I took your room?”

“Yeah,” Luis says. “Mom made me clean it for you. And put on the new sheets and everything.”

“Oh, the royal treatment,” Tomás laughs. He crosses the room slowly and looks back at Marcus when he gets to Luis’s door. “Marcus?”

Marcus is blushing again. He can feel Olivia’s assessing gaze yet again, but he’s powerless against Tomás. Pretty much always has been, truth be told. He caps the nail polish and hands it back to Olivia without meeting her eyes, then stands up and does what he always wants to do anyway: he follows Tomás.

Marcus bounces his leg anxiously as he waits for Tomás. He feels like a puppy again, just following Tomás around everywhere. But every time they’re out of sight of one another, they both get anxious. The last time they were apart, Tomás got possessed by a demon and twisted in the wind for over a month, so their newfound codependency is understandable, if not healthy. Marcus chews at a hangnail and wonders if Tomás is asking for laicization. It’s only been a day since he promised to think about it more, but Tomás is impulsive when he’s made up his mind that he’s right.

He hasn’t talked to Olivia, though, and Marcus doesn’t know if that changes anything. Bishop Egan is gone, replaced by someone Tomás had never met but who, judging by the way his eyes widened when they landed on Marcus, knew who they were. Marcus spits out the piece of nail he’d just bitten off and then grimaces at himself. He probably needs to learn how to live amongst human beings again. Or, he reflects, for the first time.

The door finally opens and Marcus pops up out of his seat in a second. He searches Tomás’s face, looking for a sign as to what happened, but Tomás has his public face on and Marcus can’t read it. It’s not quite as inscrutable as it used to be—the mask slips a lot more now, because Tomás’s temper is faster to catch than it used to—but he’s got a handle on it just now.

The bishop doesn’t follow Tomás out. Tomás meets Marcus’s eyes and jerks his head toward the door. Once outside, he rubs at his arms like he’s warding off a chill, despite his jacket.

“So?” Marcus asks, jittery.

“I didn’t say anything about it,” Tomás reveals. Marcus lets out a breath he’d been holding. He isn’t sure if he’s relieved or disappointed.

“Did he offer you a parish?” Marcus asks. There’s a muscle jumping in Tomás’s cheek that’s worrying him.

“No,” Tomás says shortly. “He said…he said I would probably not be a good fit for parish work anymore.”

Marcus gapes. “He said what?” He starts to turn around, ready to burst into that man’s office and let him know exactly what a good fit Tomás is, but Tomás grabs his arm and stops him.

“It doesn’t matter,” Tomás says, though his flared nostrils suggest otherwise. “I didn’t want it anyway.”

“This is the tipping point, is it?” Marcus asks. He suddenly feels like he can’t get a full breath, like something’s sitting on his chest. “Made your decision for you?”

“I already made my decision,” Tomás growls. “This proves my point.”

“What point?”

“Look at how they treat us, Marcus,” Tomás finally explodes. “We held the power of God in our hands! He worked through us. We saved the _fucking Pope_ and they can’t stand to look at us.” Marcus is a little caught on Tomás saying _fucking_. He curses infrequently, and when it does they’re words Marcus hardly considers curses. “They want our work but they want us to do it in the dark, away from them,” Tomás says. “They just want to use us.”

“And what, you want accolades?” Marcus asks. “Think they should throw you a welcome home party?”

The anger bleeds out of Tomás’s frame in a heartbeat. “No,” he says quietly. “But I don’t want to be treated like a leper. Like I’m dirty.”

Marcus stops walking immediately. He puts his hands on Tomás’s face and forces Tomás to look at him. “You are not dirty,” he says fiercely. “You are not unworthy or tainted or any of that bullshit. Do you hear me? You are clean and holy.”

Tomás gives him a crooked smile. “You already exorcised me, Marcus,” he reminds gently.

“And now’s the hard part,” Marcus says, stroking his thumbs against Tomás’s cheekbones. “This is the part I never stick around for. This is the part where you have to heal from what happened.”

Tomás swallows. “You never taught me how to do this part,” he whispers. Marcus feels weak. He rests his forehead against Tomás’s and closes his eyes.

“Because I don’t know how,” he reveals.

“But you’ll stick around this time?” Tomás asks, plaintive. Marcus shakes his head a little.

“Don’t know how you can still ask that,” Marcus says. “Don’t know where else you think I’d go.”

Tomás nods, taking Marcus’s head with him as he does. “Okay.”

“Okay,” Marcus parrots. He pulls back reluctantly, remembering they’re just out in the middle of the street for all this. He’d be embarrassed if he gave one shit what anyone in this city besides Tomás thinks of him. They start walking again, and every so often their hands bump. Marcus wonders what it would be like to catch and hold on. It keeps his brain occupied on the trip home.

Proving the impulsiveness Marcus was thinking about earlier, the minute they enter the house Tomás announces to Olivia, “I’m giving up the priesthood.”

Olivia has a cracker halfway to her mouth that she apparently forgets about. She stares at Tomás blankly. “What?”

“I’m done,” he says. “I’m going to tell the bishop tomorrow.”

Olivia puts the cracker down on the table. She brushes her hands against her pants. “When did you…I mean, why now—?” Her eyes flick over to Marcus. He wants to shake his head, say _I tried to talk him out of it_ , wants her to believe he didn’t ruin Tomás. He’s still not sure on that last part.

“There are many things I take issue with inside the Church,” Tomás says calmly. “And I don’t want to be part of that system anymore.”

“Okay.” Olivia picks up the cracker again and takes an absent bite. “Is this…um, is this about the d—the possession?” She can’t seem to bring herself to use the word _demon_.

“In a way.” Tomás shrugs. “It’s…it’s about the hierarchy. And the structure of exorcisms and how the possessed are treated when they’re no longer possessed.”

Marcus looks at Tomás shrewdly. “Did he say something?” He asks, putting some pieces together. Tomás clenches his jaw and Marcus knows he’s right. “What did he say?”

Tomás shakes his head. “It’s fine, I know it isn’t true.”

“Tomás.”

“He said it would not be a comfort if the congregation knew I had been…susceptible to a demon. The people would not have confidence in me if they knew I’d been possessed.”

“ _Susceptible_?” Marcus echoes, fury coursing through him. “Everyone is susceptible! Did he call you dirty?” He demands, remembering Tomás’s words outside the church. “Did he say you weren’t fit for a parish because you were unclean?”

“He didn’t say it,” Tomás says. “He…hinted.”

Marcus slams his fist down on the table and stalks toward the door. He can hardly see, he’s so enraged. He’s going to find that weasel of a bishop and have a chat with him about the true nature of demons and worthiness and Tomás Ortega. And yes, he’s extra angry because this man hinted about this to Tomás, but what if he’s said it to others who have been possessed? What if he will in the future? Marcus does not save souls to have Church leaders shame them afterward.

“Marcus.” Tomás stops him with just his name. “Please. Don’t.”

“He can’t go around saying things like that,” Marcus says. “It isn’t the truth. It just proves he knows _nothing_ about possession. And nothing about God, for that matter.”

“I know,” Tomás says. “And I told him a few things. You can deal with it later if you think he needs to hear more. But right now I’m tired. Can we just eat dinner?”

Marcus sighs. But he turns back around. If Marcus is a puppy, Tomás has the perfect whistle. All it takes is the word _we_ to bring him back to heel.

“Does that happen a lot?” Olivia asks tentatively. “People think you’re dirty after a possession?”

“Yes,” Marcus says wearily. “Most people move, even if they’re not on the run from the law. The rumors and prejudices follow for a long time.”

Olivia looks over at Tomás, her lips a thin line. “Oh.”

“It’s fine,” Tomás assures her. “I’m not worried about a few rumors.”

But they’re all a bit subdued after that, even Luis, who doesn’t know what’s going on but has caught on to the adults’ mood. And then, of course, Marcus has nightmares that night. He’s intimately familiar with nightmares, has had them all his life, even before the demons were a factor. He knows them well enough to identify immediately that he’s in a nightmare.

No, Tomás is not really eating a still-live, squealing pig. That hadn’t even happened when Tomás had been possessed. No, he doesn’t have fangs. No, Marcus is not the one handing over the pig. It’s almost comical, how routine these nightmares have become. It would be more comical if they didn’t still leave him gasping and sweating and gagging.

The size of Luis’s bed makes clinging to one another a necessity. Last night, Marcus had made cursory mention of taking the couch. Tomás hadn’t even dignified it with a verbal response, had only raised his eyebrows skeptically and rolled his eyes, and Marcus had been secretly, viciously, happy.

But now he’s worried he’ll wake Tomás with the tremors still running through him. He swallows down nausea and considers getting up for a glass of water when he realizes only half the tremors wracking him are his own. Tomás is lost in his own nightmare. Marcus almost snorts. What a pair they make. He squeezes Tomás’s shoulder gently. Tomás has pulled him from his own nightmares more than once. It’s a sad give-and-take they’ve gotten used to.

“Tomás,” he murmurs. “Tomás, wake up.” Tomás starts so violently he almost jumps off the bed, and his eyes snap open. His chest is rising and falling so fast Marcus is genuinely afraid he might hyperventilate. “Easy,” he cautions. “Tomás, it’s okay.”

“Marcus,” Tomás breathes. “Chicago?”

“Chicago,” Marcus confirms. “Luis’s room.”

Tomás nods, breaths slowing, and looks around to orient himself. The Legos in the corner seem to help, remind him where he is and _when_ he is. He nods again, dropping his head to rest against Marcus’s chest.

“I like to hear your heartbeat,” he reveals. “It calms me down.”

“Does it?” Marcus asks, secretly pleased. Probably not _that_ secret, in all honesty.

“You’re alive.”

“I am,” Marcus reassures him. “And so are you.”

Tomás raises his head to look at Marcus. “You had a nightmare, too?”

“What a boat we’re in tonight.”

Tomás snorts. “Every night, you mean.”

“Well,” Marcus says logically. “We have lived a life of horror.”

Tomás makes a sound that’s almost a laugh. Then he says, “Speak for yourself. I only lived a year of horror.”

It makes Marcus laugh out loud. His nightmare tonight was tame, relatively speaking. No one was dead. Tomás was possessed, yes, but the demon didn’t even speak. No hammers, no death, no rotting corpses. It was practically just a regular dream.

Tomás is running his hand up and down Marcus’s side and it’s lulling Marcus back to sleep. He presses his nose into Tomás’s hair. “Tomás?” He murmurs, suddenly urgent despite how sleepy he is. “You don’t think he’s right, do you? You don’t want to stop being a priest because you think you’re unworthy?” He already brought this up, outside the church, but right now it feels like he _must_ talk about it again. He has to hear from Tomás’s mouth that he knows that isn’t true. Tomás doesn’t answer for a long time and Marcus would think he’s asleep if not for the sweeping motion of his hand.

“I know it’s not true in my head,” he finally whispers.

“But not in your heart,” Marcus concludes.

Tomás’s shrug sends his shoulder lightly into Marcus’s ribs. “I heard Mouse telling someone it takes time.”

Marcus’s heart thuds at that reminder. “You should call her,” he says. “Talk to someone who understands.”

Tomás makes a noncommittal sound. “Maybe.” There’s a little smile in his voice when he says, “Maybe I will talk to Bennett about it, too.”

“I’m sure he’s an excellent therapist,” Marcus says, straight-faced, and Tomás huffs.

They quiet down. Marcus yawns and wrinkles his nose where Tomás’s hair is tickling it, but he doesn’t move away. He likes having Tomás tucked up against him like this, and not only because of his hidden feelings for Tomás. He just likes knowing where Tomás is, knowing he’s close enough to protect if need be, knowing he’s there in case Marcus needs protecting, too.

“I want to keep you safe,” he mumbles, more asleep than awake and voicing his non-sequiturs aloud.

“Okay,” Tomás slurs back agreeably. “I’ll keep you safe, too.”

“Okay,” Marcus says, and he falls asleep with a smile on his face.

Tomás must call the bishop and talk to him or something, because Marcus’s phone rings before noon. It’s Bennett. Marcus has to seriously consider if he wants to answer. Part of him is terrified Bennett has a possible possession for him to check out. Another part of him is terrified he doesn’t. Marcus can’t decide if he’s more afraid of going back to the field or being put back to pasture.

“My favorite new cardinal,” Marcus says by way of greeting.

“Hello, Marcus.” Bennett sounds annoyed already. That’s par for the course. “Why is Tomás requesting laicization?”

Marcus puffs out a breath. “Oh.”

“You knew,” Bennett accuses.

“You clearly already thought I did,” Marcus points out defensively.

“Is this your doing?” Bennett ignores him.

“Why would this be my doing?” Marcus asks. “ _I_ didn’t choose to stop being a priest, if you recall.” If he’s expecting contrition, he should know better than to expect it from Bennett.

Bennett asks seriously, “Is this because of the possession?”

Marcus has to swallow before he can answer. “Partially.”

Bennett blows out a breath. “That’s unfortunate.”

Marcus huffs. “Well put, old friend.”

“You’re a good deal older than I am,” Bennett reminds him.

“Devon!” Marcus crows. “Was that a joke?”

“No, it’s the truth,” Bennett says flatly. “I’m not approving the laicization. Not until he thinks it over.”

“You think he hasn’t?” Marcus says, though he doesn’t know how thoroughly Tomás has. “You think he made this decision easily?”

“I think,” Bennett says quietly, “a lot of things look different just after you’ve been possessed.”

Marcus can’t speak for a moment. “Bennett. Are you—”

“Tell him to think very seriously about it,” Bennett cuts him off crisply. “Have him call me in a week, at the very earliest. I told the bishop I’ll be handling his case personally.”

“Oh,” Marcus says, anger rising in his throat as he remembers the man in question. “You might have a chat with the bishop about hinting about people’s worthiness following a possession.”

Bennett is very, very quiet on the phone. When he speaks, his voice is forcibly controlled. “What did he say?”

“I don’t know,” Marcus admits. “Tomás didn’t tell me exactly. I just know the general sentiment.”

“Mm,” Bennett says. “I’ll look into it.”

“Glad I’m not him,” Marcus says.

“Quite.” Bennett hangs up. Marcus sighs and Tomás comes into Luis’s room just then. Marcus fixes him with a look.

“You talked to the bishop already?”

Tomás has the good sense to look a little guilty. “I just gave him what he wanted.”

“Why?” Marcus asks bitterly. “Anyway, he sent it up to Bennett and Bennett won’t do it.”

Tomás bursts out hotly, “He doesn’t get to—”

“Not _yet_ , I mean,” Marcus interrupts. “He wants to make sure you’re not making a hasty decision. He said take at least a week to think it over.”

“I thought it over,” Tomás says. He crosses his arms almost petulantly, looking away, and Marcus feels that chest-crushing sensation he gets sometimes when Tomás isn’t smiling. He crosses the room to put his hands on Tomás’s face. It’s the fastest way to get his attention.

“Bennett understands better than I do how you feel right now,” Marcus says softly. “He’s worried this is reactionary. He just wants to make sure you don’t do anything you’ll regret.”

Tomás swallows and nods. He doesn’t have tears in his eyes, but Marcus does. Marcus always seems to, these days. If he isn’t crying, he gets a flash of Tomás’s face superimposed over Andy’s and Gabriel’s and even Mouse’s and then he cries. Tomás reaches out a hand and wipes away a tear spilling onto Marcus’s cheek.

“Don’t cry,” he says.

“Can’t seem to stop,” Marcus laughs wetly. “No one to beat it out of me anymore.”

The hand that Tomás had brought reflexively to Marcus’s waist tenses, like he’s getting ready to throw a punch. “There’s nothing wrong with crying,” he says. “Except that I just want you to be happy and not so sad all the time.”

“I don’t feel sad,” Marcus says. “Not immediately. The tears just…fall.”

Tomás cracks a little smile at that. “You are just leaking?”

Marcus huffs and pulls Tomás close enough to bury his face in the crook of Tomás’s neck. “Guess I am.”

“That’s alright,” Tomás says, stroking the back of Marcus’s head and scratching lightly at the short hair. “No one’s going to hurt you again.” He says it like a prayer, a vow. It makes Marcus cry some more. And it makes Marcus believe him.

“The Church wants to get us an apartment,” Tomás tells him a few days later. They’re in the bathroom, shaving, just starting the day even though it’s half eleven. Olivia’s at work and Luis is at school and they’re rattling around the apartment, at a loss and drifting.

Marcus pauses with the razor at his jaw. “Do they?”

“I don’t know if I should agree,” Tomás says. “Since I’m not going to be a priest anymore.”

Marcus sighs and goes back to shaving. “Bennett already knows you requested it,” he points out. “Sure he thinks this is payment for the exorcism.”

Tomás runs his razor under the tap for so long his eyes shift out of focus. Marcus is just starting to get worried when Tomás blinks and turns off the water. “Do you…” He clears his throat. “Are you going to go back out?”

“Thought we were going for milk,” Marcus says absently, wiping away the shaving cream. Then he realizes what Tomás means. “Oh. For more exorcisms?” The thought of it is making his knees weak. He can’t stop seeing Andy’s lifeless eyes, the blood splatter on the wall from Marcus’s actions. And he knows, without doubt or hesitation, he’d do it a hundred more times, to a hundred more people, for Tomás. It terrifies him more than anything else in his life of terror. “I don’t know.” He looks closely at Tomás. “Are you?”

Tomás shrugs. “I don’t know if I’d be any good without letting the demons in anymore.”

“We did plenty before you started doing that,” Marcus points out.

“You’re the one who knows how,” Tomás says quietly.

Marcus shakes his head. “I never exorcised an integrated soul.”

“I don’t know if I can,” Tomás whispers. His eyes are too big, too wide, and he’s starting to breathe too fast.

“Tomás?” Marcus asks. “Look at me, Tomás.” He drops his razor and holds Tomás’s face. “Breathe, Tomás, breathe deeper.” He puts one hand on Tomás’s chest to coax him to breathe. It only takes a second before he calms down. Now _Marcus_ feels like he’s going to panic. Tomás had looked like he was going to pass out.

“Sorry,” Tomás chokes out.

“Now why would you say that to me, of all people?” Marcus teases gently.

“I’m…I’m having a hard time,” Tomás admits. It’s such an intense understatement Marcus can’t help but laugh out loud. Tomás groans and drops his forehead to rest on Marcus’s shoulder. He’s getting shaving cream on Marcus’s shirt and Marcus couldn’t care less.

“I’m sorry, I don’t mean to laugh,” Marcus apologizes. “It’s just—yeah, Tomás. You are.”

Tomás sighs. “I’m angry.” He presses his face harder against Marcus’s shoulder. “I’m angry at God. And even though I know I shouldn’t be…I can’t stop.”

Marcus swallows hard. “I know the feeling.”

“How do you get over it?” Tomás’s voice sounds small. Bruised. It hurts Marcus to hear it.

Now Marcus sighs. “Not entirely sure,” he confesses. “Still working on it, a bit. I found a purpose.”

“I thought I had a purpose,” Tomás says bitterly. “And thinking about doing it makes me suffocate.”

“Yeah,” Marcus says. “Well, me too.” He scratches at the hair at the base of Tomás’s neck. It’s uneven, because he cut it himself at some point between Montana and Washington. He’d refused to just buzz it off like Marcus does. There’s still a bit of vanity about Tomás, but not the kind that’ll bring his downfall or anything like that, not like his streak of pride that keeps him running straight to demons. Just the kind of vanity that comes from being a good looking man who wants to keep his hair. And Marcus can’t say he minds much.

“Tomás,” Marcus says slowly. “You said you didn’t want to be a priest because you could do God’s work without the vows. And you talked about our work being God’s work. But now you don’t want to do exorcisms. So…”

“So I’m useless again,” Tomás finishes.

“That’s not what I said,” Marcus says, voice a little sharper than he’d meant it.

“It’s how I feel.”

“Yeah, I know that one too,” Marcus reminds him. “Look, we’ll give it some time. We don’t have to decide anything now. Demons will always be around to be exorcised.”

“So should we take the apartment or not?” Tomás asks, pushing out of Marcus’s arms to start cleaning up the bathroom counter. He always rinses the sink after he shaves, never leaves any hair behind the way Marcus does. Marcus is notoriously messy. If he put much stock in psychology, he might think he has an innate need to leave his mark. He’s not sure any people will remember him after he’s gone, but he can leave proof he was alive.

He doesn’t think about it much, though.

“Luis could have his room back,” Marcus points out. “But might break his heart to not have you here every day.”

Tomás laughs. “No, we’ve been back long enough now. He’s over it.”

“I don’t think Bennett would take it away if you really decide to leave,” Marcus says. “At least, not right away.”

Tomás sighs. “So you want to?”

Marcus shrugs. “Be good to get out of limbo in at least one way.”

Tomás nods. “Okay. I’ll call them and tell them we’ll take it.” He pats Marcus’s back as he leaves. And Marcus realizes, with a pounding in his chest, they decided that together and neither of them even noticed.

They don’t have anything to move in, really. Tomás looks at their battered backpacks, side-by-side on Luis’s bed as they pack, and shakes his head. “If we stay put we’re going to have to buy more clothes.”

“Why?” Marcus asks. “If we’re staying put we’ll be able to do laundry whenever we want.”

Tomás laughs out loud. “You’re ridiculous. You won’t die if you have enough socks to last a whole week without wearing them twice. You might actually save your life.”

Marcus shrugs. “I’ve never had more than I can fit into a rucksack,” he reveals.

“Well, now you can,” Tomás says. “And you can buy a full-size sketchbook. And different colored pencils.”

“Getting fancy now,” Marcus says dryly. Tomás elbows him.

“When am I gonna see you again?” Luis asks mournfully when they’re saying goodbye.

“Luis,” Tomás says, distressed. He hugs his nephew. “We’re staying in Chicago this time. We’re just gonna be a train ride away. Okay?”

“Will you say goodbye before you leave next time?” Luis asks.

Tomás winces. He looks at Olivia, who raises her eyebrows, not softening the blow for him at all. “I’m wondering the same thing.”

“I don’t know if we _will_ leave again,” Tomás says.

“And it won’t be for a long while, if we do,” Marcus adds. “Tomás is still recovering.”

That gets Tomás to roll his eyes. “I’m fine.” When Marcus opens his mouth to argue, he jumps in, “Okay, I’m _mostly_ fine.” Marcus will let him have that one.

“Bye, Marcus,” Luis says, surprising Marcus with a tight hug of his own. “Thanks for teaching me how to draw.” It sounds rehearsed, like Olivia definitely had to remind him to say it. It makes Marcus’s throat feel tight.

“You’re very welcome,” he says. “You keep practicing and we’ll have more lessons, alright?”

“Okay,” Luis says, still unsure if they’re telling the truth about staying in Chicago. It makes Marcus feel a bit guilty. He’d torn Tomás away last time, wouldn’t even let him say goodbye, and Luis and Olivia are obviously feeling the effects of that. Olivia has been hugging Tomás tightly for several minutes, whispering in his ear. Tomás seems to have gone through several different emotions, and the last one is…embarrassment? Marcus can’t tell for sure, but the tips of Tomás’s ears are pink.

Then Olivia turns to him and Marcus finds himself shifting awkwardly. She hugs him and goes up onto her tiptoes to give him a kiss on the cheek. “Take care of him, will you?” She whispers. Marcus nods. Of course he will. “And take care of yourself, too, okay?” Marcus doesn’t nod for that one. He certainly can’t make that promise.

The apartment is pretty typical for something Bennett would pick for them—small, a bit musty, but clean enough. There are two bedrooms, Marcus notes with unease. He’s afraid Tomás is going to stop needing him soon, and he doesn’t think he’s going to handle that well.

“Did you talk to Bennett about doing more exorcisms?” Tomás asks. Marcus doesn’t know why he keeps bringing it up when the thought of exorcisms keeps giving him panic attacks. He’s always been a glutton for punishment.

“No,” Marcus says. He’s afraid to broach the subject with Bennett, for one thing because he’s not sure how he feels about going back to the field, and for another because he’s not sure how _Bennett_ feels on the topic. “We could call Mouse, though. Check in.”

“Do you know where she is?” Tomás asks.

“When we left Rome she was heading back to England,” Marcus says. “Or she said she was, anyway. They didn’t have quite the uptick we did here in Chicago, but there were plenty of people needing her there.”

Tomás sits down on the couch with a sigh. Marcus is prowling the room, looking into drawers and in the closet in the hall. He can feel Tomás’s eyes on his back. “I don’t know what we’re supposed to do now,” Tomás says quietly after a minute. Marcus’s restless feet take him back to Tomás. He takes the spot beside him on the couch.

“I don’t either. I’ve never gone this long between exorcisms. Except—” Except when he was at St. Aquinas.

“Do you think they’ll send me there?” Tomás asks flatly.

“Pulled any guns on anyone lately?” Marcus counters dryly.

Tomás shakes his head, frustrated Marcus isn’t taking him seriously. “That’s not the only reason they send priests away, Marcus. I was possessed. And I’m…” He takes a shaky breath. “I’m broken.”

Marcus knows he should keep his hands to himself more, especially here, alone in some semblance of playing house, but he can’t help it when Tomás says that, when his eyes are filling with tears and his jaw is clenching. Marcus takes Tomás’s chin in one hand and uses the other to brush through Tomás’s hair.

“You are not broken,” he says firmly. “You just need some time.”

Tomás won’t meet his eyes. “I don’t know what to do with myself.”

Marcus sighs. He doesn’t have answers for this and it feels like they’re going in circles, always coming back to that useless feeling they’re both too intimate and uncomfortable with. The last time Marcus lost his way, it was Tomás who pulled him back. Now they’re together in the feeling.

It’s probably wrong to be comforted by that. But Marcus is used to being wrong.

“Do you want to call Bennett and ask for some kind of…I don’t know, other assignment? You can’t go back out right now, not yet. But maybe he has some kind of humanitarian project for you.”

“I don’t know.” Tomás sounds tired again. “I’m going to take a nap.”

He pulls free from Marcus’s grasp and Marcus watches him trudge off to one of the bedrooms. Marcus is worried about him. He says he feels useless, but he doesn’t want to ask anyone for help finding a purpose. Marcus knows not wanting to ask for help, but Tomás has never shown much reluctance there. Marcus sighs and gets off the couch. He goes to the kitchen to see if Bennett set them up with food, too, or if they need to find that for themselves.

He doesn’t know how they will. Marcus isn’t used to having to worry about money, not really. He never had much, but he always knew it was coming. Even after his excommunication, Bennett was giving them money, shuffling extra into Tomás’s regular stipend when he could. And Tomás had been more than willing to spend his money on cheap motel rooms and water to bless for exorcisms.

But now…if Tomás truly does go for the laicization, they’ll be on their own. In true Bennett fashion, he’d told them the first three months of rent were paid for now, and after that they’d have to figure it out themselves. Either Tomás will stay with the Church and get his usual living allowance, or…

Or.

Marcus tries to imagine himself in a job of some sort. He never finished high school and his only skill is calling upon God to expel demons. A highly useful skill, to be sure, but not one he can easily boast about. He’s never been good at anything else. Drawing, perhaps, but he doesn’t know what he’d do with that. He looks down at his scarred, battered hands and swallows down the self-loathing threatening to choke him. Only good for one thing, same as he always was. Useless now without it. He feels like he’s going to blink and be back at St. Aquinas, arms crossed as other priests cry about drugs and prostitutes. He’d never been around any of the child molesters, probably because they knew if Marcus would pull a gun on _Bennett_ , of all people, he wouldn’t hesitate to pull the trigger on any of them.

He squeezes his eyes closed and presses the heels of his hands into them, hard, until colors burst behind his eyelids. He holds his breath for a moment until he feels like he can stand upright without breaking and goes back to searching for food. There are cans of soup, a box of rice, and oats. Marcus goes for the soup. It seems easiest.

But before he can even find a can opener, he hears a crash from the bedroom. He bites off a curse just as he hears Tomás start crying out. He slides a bit in his socks on the kitchen floor and barely manages to get around the counter without braining himself.

“Tomás!” He yells. He pauses in the doorway. Tomás is already awake, shaking a bit, sweating, covering his eyes with his hands. “Oh, Tomás.”

“You see?” Tomás asks, voice choked. “Broken.”

Marcus sits down on the bed and pulls Tomás half into his lap. It gives him a little start when he remembers he did this during the exorcism, clutched Tomás to his chest like he could hold the demon out of him. Maybe it’ll work better this time.

“Join my club,” Marcus murmurs. Tomás shakes his head, but he smiles a little. Marcus has an inside joke after all.

“What are we supposed to do if we’re both broken?” Tomás asks. Marcus shrugs.

“Limp along together, I guess.”

Tomás manages a small laugh. It’s more of a sigh, but Marcus gets the intent. “Okay.” He pushes himself up into a sitting position beside Marcus. “That means we have to stick together, then.”

Marcus nods. “That was my plan. Did you have another idea?”

“I’m not the one who left,” Tomás points out softly.

Marcus sucks in a breath. They haven’t talked about that part yet. They’d been a bit busy, what with the demons and exorcisms and transatlantic flights and nightmares. “True,” he says, trying not to sound too much like he’s on the verge of tears. He doesn’t know why he’s bothering to pretend or try. Tomás has probably seen him cry more than he’s seen him _not_ crying. “But you know why I had to.”

Well, partially. Marcus can’t be sure Tomás fully understands why. Not just killing Andy, but the reason he did it. Marcus had to leave because he wasn’t fit to be an exorcist with Tomás. He can’t save souls when he values one specific soul over any others.

Tomás just looks at him for a moment. “Well, you did come back,” he finally says, drawing his knees to his chest and wrapping his arms around himself. Marcus wants it to be his arms.

“God told me to,” Marcus says, like he wouldn’t have gone running if any mortal on the street had told him Tomás was in danger. Tomás lifts his head off his arms.

“What? You didn’t tell me that.”

Marcus sighs. “Oh, yes, the only messages He gives me now are all about you.”

Tomás laughs for real this time, though it’s still small. “Sorry.”

Marcus shrugs. “Don’t be.” He looks over at Tomás, looks into his eyes, and has to smile. “I’m not.”

Tomás looks back at him and takes a deep breath. “Okay,” he breathes. And then he leans over and he presses his lips to Marcus’s. Marcus would like to say he’s surprised and doesn’t kiss back. But he’s been yearning for this so long, it doesn’t give him a second of pause. He puts his hand on Tomás’s cheek and kisses back with everything he’s got. His brain does catch up, eventually, and he pulls back. Not _much_ , but then, he’s only human.

“Tomás, wait,” he murmurs. “Why—”

Tomás half-laughs, half-groans. “ _Why_?” He echoes. “Marcus, you must know—”

“But Tomás,” Marcus argues weakly as Tomás reaches for him again. “You…”

“I don’t want to be a priest anymore, remember?”

That’s like ice water for Marcus. He pulls away properly this time. “No,” he says, wounded. “No, I won’t be your…your sin to justify leaving.”

“That’s not what I meant,” Tomás says. He drops his head back to his hands and tugs at his hair. Marcus shakes his head before Tomás can go on.

“No, Tomás, you’re not yourself now.”

“I _am_ myself,” Tomás reminds him hotly. “For the first time in too long. I _wasn’t_. I was trapped in my own body. Don’t tell me I’m not myself.”

“I’m sorry,” Marcus says plainly, because Tomás is right and Marcus should be more careful right now, while Tomás is still wracked with the nightmares and can’t even be alone. Marcus has been around enough people after he’s exorcised them to know better than to be so careless with his words.

“I’m not using this to justify leaving,” Tomás says quietly. “But it _is_ part of the reason. I want you, and if the Church says no, I’ll leave.”

“Tomás,” Marcus growls. “I will not be part of your self-destruction.”

“How is this self-destruction?” Tomás asks, no heat in it. “If it is making me so happy?”

Marcus doesn’t know what to do. Of course he wants Tomás. He’s wanted this for so long, and a part of him is positively flying at the idea that Tomás wants this too. But there’s too much of him that’s afraid this is another uncharacteristic moment for Tomás, Tomás acting out to try to find his footing after the possession.

Marcus swallows hard. “I don’t think you mean it.”

Tomás doesn’t say anything for a minute. He puts his hand on Marcus’s back and rubs in small circles. “Maybe that has more to do with you than with me.”

Marcus doesn’t have an answer for that. They don’t talk about it, and they don’t kiss again.

“Shouldn’t you be sleeping?” Bennett says without any other greeting. To his credit, it’s 1 am in Chicago. Tomás is asleep and hasn’t thrashed in half an hour. The wrinkle between his eyebrows is still there, but he looks healthier. Marcus hadn’t been sure if Tomás would want to share a room, share a bed, after this afternoon, but Tomás had told him not to be stupid and get in bed.

“Tomás needs help,” Marcus blurts out. It’s not the reason he’s awake, not really; he’d been awake anyway, more nightmares of Andy and Gabriel and his father keeping him up. But since he was already awake, he figured he’d get Bennett’s advice. “He’s…I don’t know. He’s not doing well.”

Bennett considers this. “I thought that’s what you were doing.”

“What?”

“Helping him,” Bennett clarifies. “Isn’t that why you’re there?”

“I don’t know _how_ ,” Marcus says. He’s crying again. He’s not surprised. He’s back to that choking, helpless feeling. He doesn’t know how to help Tomás. He’s useless. “How am I supposed to help when I’m a mess myself?”

Bennett sighs. “I assume you would _not_ suggest he take a stay at St. Aquinas.”

“ _No_ ,” Marcus spits immediately. “You try to send him there, we’re running. I won’t let you—”

“Yes, Marcus, I know,” Bennett interrupts. “I’m not sure what else you expect from me.”

“Well.” Marcus falters. “Couldn’t you…talk to him? You’ve been through the same thing.” He’d been joking before when he told Tomás to talk to Bennett, but right now he’s willing to try anything.

“Do I look like a therapist to you?” Bennett asks coolly. “It’s not as if I’m not sympathetic, Marcus. But I do have a great deal of work to do.”

“You can’t abandon him,” Marcus says sharply. “Don’t leave him to twist in the wind with nothing.”

“Like I did you, you mean?” Bennett asks. He might actually be losing his temper now. “There are rules, Marcus, and I enforce those rules. There are procedures to follow. If you—or rather, if _Tomás_ is not willing to go through those channels, then there’s nothing for me to do.”

“He’s drowning, Bennett,” Marcus throws out desperately. “He’s drowning and I can see it but I can’t do anything about it. And I’m scared for him. I’m so scared.” He drags his hand across his eyes to dash away the tears there.

“I know,” Bennett says. It’s as gentle as Bennett gets. “I’m worried, too. But I have nothing to offer.” There’s almost a warning in his words, and Marcus understands. Bennett is barely hanging on himself. Talking to Tomás about what happened would open the floodgates, and Bennett can’t afford to do that. Now Marcus just feels guilty. Bennett had taken a lot of pleasure in excommunicating Marcus, but they’ve been through a lot over the years, especially with this Vatican ordeal.

“Okay,” Marcus sniffs. “Alright, then.”

There’s a pause. Then: “You might try Mouse.”

Marcus sighs. That’s not going to help his guilt. Marcus has been too selfish, left too many hurt people behind, to ever be free of guilt. “Is she exorcising?”

“She’s between exorcisms at the moment,” Bennett says. “Unless she found one on her own. Which she seems to have a penchant for doing.”

“Alright,” Marcus says, feeling numb now. “I’ll try her. Thank you, Bennett.”

Bennett hesitates for a second. “Good luck, Marcus.” He hangs up before Marcus can say anything back. Marcus doesn’t bother trying to stop his tears before he calls Mouse. She’s not nearly as used to him crying as everyone else is, since outside of exorcisms his proclivity for crying has grown exponentially since Gabriel, but he stopped being ashamed of his tears a long time ago.

“Hello?” Mouse sounds suspicious when she picks up her phone.

“Hello, Church Mouse,” Marcus chokes out.

“Marcus? Is something wrong?” Now she just sounds panicked and Marcus realizes he _should_ have tried a little harder not to call her in tears.

“Tomás,” he says, because it’s the truth. “I don’t think he’s handling the possession well.”

Mouse lets out a long, slow breath. “I told him to take his time,” she says.

“You talked to him?”

“Of course I did,” Mouse says, almost insulted. “I know exactly what he’s feeling. _Exactly_.”

Marcus winces. He almost wants to point out the situations weren’t identical; Marcus left Tomás before he got possessed. But he doesn’t think Mouse needs the reminder that Marcus wouldn’t have left Tomás in that state. It would only be cruel to bring that up. It’s not some kind of shortcoming on Mouse’s part, and Marcus wouldn’t even say it’s necessarily a reflection of the strength of his love for either of them. Most of the reason Marcus left Mouse was because that was the first time he’d ever failed, and he’d been unable to bear it.

He’s all too used to it now.

“Could you talk to him again?” Marcus asks.

“Marcus, you can’t decide what he needs,” Mouse says. “If Tomás wants to talk to me, he knows how to reach me. You’re not going to bully him into talking.”

Marcus huffs. “I’m not _bullying_ him. I’m caring.”

“Maybe you could try caring in a less paternalistic manner.”

“I don’t even know what that means,” Marcus lies.

“You do,” Mouse sees through him easily. “I thought you were doing a fair job. Staying with him. It matters a lot.”

“Mouse,” Marcus says, chest tight with regret.

“No,” she stops him. “I don’t need an apology. It’s done and dusted now.”

“Okay,” he says.

“Just do what you do best,” Mouse says. “Just love him.”

Marcus’s stomach churns as he remembers the feeling of Tomás’s lips on his. “That’s a bit complicated.”

“I don’t think it is,” Mouse counters. “But I know how you like to complicate things.” It’s not quite a rebuke, but it’s certainly not gentle. “Don’t hate yourself so much you can’t let him love you back,” Mouse adds, softer this time.

“I…” Marcus doesn’t have a good response for that. “Okay,” he settles for. “You be careful, Mouse. And call if you get into any trouble.”

“I won’t,” Mouse says. “It’s long past time you retired.”

Marcus laughs a little, through his tears. “Calling me old?”

“Absolutely.”

Marcus smiles down at his phone after they hang up. Then he goes back to bed and holds Tomás in his arms.

“I think you need to talk to someone,” Marcus says, ignoring Mouse’s advice. If she finds out, she’ll be mad, and he’s probably going to end up with his foot in his mouth, but he can’t help himself.

“I talk to you every day,” Tomás points out. He takes a bite of cereal that’s overly-large and Marcus knows he’s doing it on purpose, pretending to be obtuse.

“I think you need to talk to someone who’s been possessed,” Marcus amends. Tomás’s nostrils flare in anger, but he’s filled his mouth so full he can’t speak. “I think it’ll help you.”

Tomás gulps down his mouthful and points his spoon at Marcus. “Are you finding an excuse to leave?” He accuses.

Marcus is completely taken aback. “What?”

“You don’t want to deal with me, so you’re just…you’re handing me off to someone else. _Here, take this, I can’t fix it_.”

Marcus throws his hands up, at his wit’s end. “Not in the _slightest_ , Tomás, that’s not at _all_ what I mean. I just want you to get some bloody help!”

“ _You’re_ supposed to be my help!” Tomás shoots back. “I thought you were my partner!”

“I am, and that’s why I want you to talk to someone who understands,” Marcus hisses, annoyed. “I can tell you’re not okay. You’re hurting, and I want you to get help because I lo—” He swallows hard around the rest of the words.

“You love me,” Tomás says flatly. “I already know that, Marcus. You _killed_ a man for me. But you won’t let me love you back.”

“I’m afraid you’ll regret it later,” Marcus says.

“I think everyone’s afraid of that in this sort of thing, Marcus,” Tomás points out.

“I’m afraid you want more than I can give you,” Marcus confesses, looking down at the scratched table. He can’t imagine what value he’d be to Tomás without exorcisms. Without the bond of God between them, what will Tomás see? There won’t be anything left. Tomás will realize he’d mistaken brotherhood for love, for attraction.

“More than you can or more than you will?” Tomás asks sadly. Marcus doesn’t answer. Tomás sighs and pushes his chair back. As he walks away, he says, “All I want is you, Marcus. I’m not asking for anything else.”

He leaves. Marcus doesn’t follow.

Tomás hasn’t told Marcus where they’re going. They’d gone over to Olivia’s for breakfast after an early mass and then Tomás pushed Marcus into Olivia’s car. Now they’re on the interstate. It’s so familiar, being in a car together. Squabbling over the music and despairing over Tomás’s driving. But Marcus usually knows where they’re going, and he knows it’s ridiculous but there’s a little piece of him that’s afraid Tomás is taking him back to St. Aquinas. Tomás keeps saying he’s broken, but there’s no question Marcus is objectively the more broken of the two of them. Maybe after Marcus rebuffed him a second time Tomás realized Marcus is too big a job and he’s sending him back.

He swallows hard and looks over at Tomás, the way he’s leaning his elbow on the window and singing along with the radio. Tomás notices him looking and smiles at Marcus, and Marcus’s heart settles a bit. He knows Tomás better than that. Tomás wouldn’t do that, even if he had realized his feelings were mixed up and all wrong. Tomás wouldn’t do that to anyone.

It’s when they’re approaching the border that Marcus sits up straighter. “What?” He says dumbly. “I didn’t bring my passport.”

“I did,” Tomás says smugly.

“Where’re we going?” Marcus asks again after they’ve crossed into Canada. This time, Tomás relents.

“You wanted me to talk to someone who’s been possessed,” he reminds Marcus. “So we’re going to Guelph.”

Marcus blinks. “The Rances?”

Tomás nods. “I thought it would be nice to check on them anyway. And you can stop worrying about me.”

Marcus snorts. “I’ll never stop worrying about you.” He’s not sure he should’ve said it, with the way things have been. It’s been four days since they kissed. They haven’t done it again, and beyond their one conversation over breakfast, they’ve steadfastly pretended it didn’t happen. Tomás licks his lips and exhales through his nose and Marcus hopes he didn’t cause him pain.

“Well, me, too,” Tomás says. He doesn’t look over at Marcus, but he holds out his hand. Marcus hesitates for a second, but he thinks about what Mouse said. He takes Tomás’s hand and laces their fingers together. It’s worth it to see the soft smile that takes over Tomás’s face. And besides, it makes something in Marcus’s heart and his stomach settle. He tries his hardest not to be selfish, but it might be okay to take this comfort. Tomás is offering, after all, and if _Tomás_ needs the comfort, it might be okay if Marcus gets some, too.

It’s a long drive to Guelph, but they’re used to that. The house they pull up to is secluded, which makes sense, Marcus supposes. They won’t be too keen on outsiders after everything they’ve been through. In his experience, demon possession either destroys a family or glues them together. From what he saw, the Rances were the latter.

“Did you tell them we’re coming?” Marcus asks as Tomás navigates the long gravel driveway.

Tomás nods. “Wanted to give them a chance to say no.”

Marcus squeezes his hand. “For them or for you?”

Tomás snorts and takes his hand back to put the car in park. He taps the steering wheel. “Okay,” he says. “Last chance to change our minds.”

Marcus laughs at him. “Just turn around and do the seven hours again?”

Tomás is half-smiling as he opens his door. “We’ve done more in one day,” he reminds Marcus.

“Sorry, mate,” Marcus says. “My back can’t take it anymore.”

“Oh, yes, I forgot about your old bones,” Tomás teases. “That conveniently only bother you when you don’t want to do something.”

“Can’t help my age,” Marcus says unapologetically. Tomás rolls his eyes and they leave the safety of the car. Marcus’s stomach is fluttering as they take the front steps. He hasn’t had much success checking up on people after the exorcism. Most people aren’t happy to hear from him, much less see him on their doorstep. He doesn’t take it personally; he knows he brings a lot of bad memories with him. Most people would rather forget he exists at all. He takes a deep breath when they’re before the door. He glances over at Tomás.

Tomás looks like he’s ready to stare down an executioner. Marcus would like to kiss him, he thinks. Except Marcus turned that down, didn’t he? Kissing Tomás right now after pushing him away a few times wouldn’t exactly be helpful. Instead, Marcus claps a hand on Tomás’s shoulder.

“I think it’ll help,” he murmurs.

Tomás shrugs. “They’re good people. It can’t hurt.”

“Martyr,” Marcus mutters as Tomás knocks. Tomás gives him a sideways glance but otherwise ignores the hypocrisy.

Marcus can’t help the big breath he takes when Casey opens the door. For one fleeting second, he expects her to spit at him, lunge and try to bite him, open her mouth and show rotting, bloodied teeth. But she smiles, and he blinks away the bad memories.

She looks good. Healthy. And _happy_. She throws her arms around Marcus’s neck. “Marcus!” He’s got tears in his eyes before she finishes the word. Then she releases him and gives Tomás the same treatment.

“Come in,” she says, and her eyes aren’t fully dry, either. “Everyone’s on the back porch.”

She leads them through the tidy house, full of smiling pictures, and back into the early evening sun. Angela’s wheelchair jars in Marcus’s head for a second. He’d known about it, of course, but he’s never seen her in it.

“Father Tomás,” Angela says warmly. “Father Marcus.”

“Just Marcus,” Marcus reminds her, watching as Tomás bends to hug her. He follows suit as Tomás makes the rounds with Kat and Henry.

“We barbequed,” Henry says. He’s wearing one of those ridiculous _Kiss the Cook_ aprons Marcus wasn’t sure were real. They look like a completely normal family, the kind Marcus sees on TV sometimes when he’s too wired to sleep and clicks through the staticky motel channels. No one would ever guess two of them had been brushed by hell.

For the first hour, everyone just eats. They catch up a bit; Henry’s back at work and Angela’s getting ready to venture out, too. Casey and Kat are taking some online courses together and Kat’s impressing all her physical therapists with her improvement. The four of them turn expectantly to Marcus and Tomás. Marcus shoots Tomás a look.

“We have been traveling,” Tomás says delicately.

“For exorcisms?” Kat always did cut right to the point.

“Yes,” Tomás says. “Um.” He looks at Marcus. Marcus can see him internally battling. On the one hand, he did agree to talk to Angela and Casey. On the other, Marcus would bet his left arm Tomás thinks he’ll be burdening them if he talks about his own needs. But Marcus can’t just jump in and tell them for him. It has to be Tomás’s choice.

He can put a hand on Tomás’s shoulder, though. He can support him.

Tomás takes a deep breath. “I was possessed,” he says. They’re outside, so the room doesn’t fall silent. But Marcus can suddenly hear every rustling of wind in the trees and every bird chirping overhead. No one speaks for what feels like a full minute.

“I’m really sorry to hear that, Father,” Angela says. Her face is tight. Tomás looks down at his hands.

“How long?” Casey asks. She reaches out and touches Tomás’s hand. “How long were you possessed, Father Tomás?”

Tomás hunches his shoulders. “I don’t…” He looks at Marcus again.

“Forty-two days before the start of the exorcism,” Marcus supplies. “Best we can tell.”

Casey gasps. “That’s so long.”

“You went that long without integrating?” Angela asks.

“Well, he _is_ a priest,” Kat reminds them. “Probably had, like…God helping him.”

“My faith helped,” Tomás concedes. “But a possession is never a measure of faith or God’s love. And integration isn’t, either.” He’s using his priest voice, the strong conviction that rings out over the pews. That’s the kind of thing he would tell anyone who asked about demonic possession. He doesn’t want Angela and Casey to feel guilty or like they had any shortcomings. Marcus loves him so much it makes his throat ache.

“How long’s it been?” Angela asks. “Since the exorcism?”

“The exorcism took three weeks,” Marcus says quietly. He hears a few more gasps. “And it’s been…” He and Tomás meet eyes, both calculating.

“Twelve days,” Tomás determines.

“ _Twelve days_?” Casey echoes. “Why aren’t you…I don’t know, still in bed? Or in the hospital?”

“There were other circumstances,” Tomás hedges.

“We had to go to the Vatican so he could save the Pope,” Marcus elaborates.

All four Rances are staring now. “Save the Pope?” Kat echoes weakly.

“Was he possessed?” Henry asks. Marcus needs to find a better way to phrase that so everyone isn’t so worried.

“No,” Tomás assures them. “Never. But much of the leadership was, and they were determined to kill the Pope and, um.” He shrugs. “Release demons upon the world.” It’s strange to think about all that, the danger and the fear, out here in the setting spring sun.

“So…you saved the world,” Kat says slowly. “Not just the Pope.”

Tomás and Marcus look at each other and shrug. That could certainly be argued.

“God did,” Tomás says, predictably. “We just lent Him our hands.”

Kat snorts, then claps a hand over her mouth guiltily. “Sorry.”

Marcus ducks his head, trying not to laugh at what she obviously thinks is a faux pas. “He does sound a bit high and mighty when he’s humble, doesn’t he?” He teases, glancing at Tomás. Tomás rolls his eyes.

“But Father Tomás,” Casey says, ignoring all that. She’s focusing on Tomás, eyes big and worried. “Are you _okay_?”

Tomás smiles at her, strained. The muscle in his jaw is jumping. He swallows so hard it’s audible. “Of course,” he says. But his voice comes out funny, like he can’t get a full breath, and there’s a rattling sound that Marcus looks down to find is Tomás’s trembling hand making his cup clatter against the table. Without a thought for anything but Tomás, Marcus reaches for him, touching his arm and giving him a gentle squeeze.

“Alright,” Marcus whispers. “It’s alright.”

“Sorry,” Tomás mumbles, avoiding everyone’s eyes.

“Okay,” Angela says suddenly. “Casey, why don’t you and the Father and I go for a walk? Or,” she amends. “You and Father Tomás walk. I’ll wheel.”

Casey rolls her eyes. “Mom, that joke stopped being funny like the five hundredth time you said it.”

“Well, Father Tomás and Marcus haven’t heard it,” Angela points out. “We’ll go down the road to the park, okay?” She says to Henry. “Be back in, say…half an hour.”

“Sounds great,” Henry says. “We’ll clean up.”

“I can stay and help clean up,” Tomás protests weakly. Marcus stands up and rubs at Tomás’s shoulders. He leans down to murmur in his ear.

“Go,” he says. “I think it’ll be good for you.”

“And what if it’s not?” Tomás asks, head bowed.

“Then you can say _I told you so_ all the way home,” Marcus promises. It earns him a little smile from Tomás.

“ _And_ pick the radio station,” Tomás says as he stands up.

Marcus huffs. “Hard bargain.” They stand there for a minute, looking at each other. Marcus bites his thumbnail. “It’s alright,” he says, trying to soothe them both. He’s anxious, a pit in his stomach and a jittering in his limbs. “You’re not going far.”

“You can find me if you need me,” Tomás agrees.

Marcus nods. It doesn’t stop his heart from pounding as he watches Tomás walk away. Tomás looks back at him just before he disappears into the house and it’s all Marcus can do not to run after him. This will be the longest Tomás has been out of his sight since the demon. But Tomás will be fine. This separation anxiety is ridiculous, and they need to get over it sooner or later. He balls his hands into fists for a second and takes a deep breath. Nothing’s going to happen to Tomás in this next thirty minutes.

It’s hard, though, when Marcus knows how everything can change in a split-second.

“Wow,” Kat remarks. Marcus jumps. He hadn’t realized she was still there. “You’re struggling, huh?”

Marcus rubs his temples. “We’re adjusting.”

Kat raises her eyebrows. “Did you guys fuse into one super-priest or like Siamese twin priests or something?”

“Kat,” Henry warns.

“I’m just saying,” she defends herself. “He’s going for a walk and you’re freaking out.”

“I’m a bit worried about how he’ll handle the walk. Or, rather, the _talk_ ,” Marcus admits. “He’s been…” He trails off. It doesn’t feel right, discussing Tomás’s mental state with Kat and Henry. Bennett and Mouse both already knew how Tomás was doing, but Tomás has kept a pretty brave face here so far.

“That great, huh?” Henry says gently. Marcus swallows. Right. It’s a bit hard to hide it from them when they’ve been through this, too.

“I worry about him,” Marcus says, sitting back down.

“Yeah,” Kat says shrewdly. “Not so easy to see someone you love possessed, huh?”

“Not so easy to exorcise someone you love,” Marcus counters quietly. “It’s—well, it’s a bit taxing. And knowing if I failed he’d die or worse, well.” Marcus sniffs. He blinks away Andy and Gabriel and Mouse and Bennett. At least Mouse and Bennett lived.

“I’m sure he knew you wouldn’t fail,” Henry says. “I can’t imagine he’d want anyone else to do it.”

Marcus shrugs. “At that point he didn’t want much of anything. By the time we found him he was barely hanging on. And the demon was strong. It took everything he had to keep fighting and to come back. And then we went straight to Rome and he had to do so many exorcisms, right after another.” He shakes his head. “He hasn’t rested enough, hasn’t processed anything. He’s just ignoring everything.”

“What about you?” Henry asks. “Are you processing?”

Marcus blinks. He’d been drifting off into a reverie, lost in the painful memories of Tomás spitting insults at him and biting him. “What? No, I’ve nothing to process.”

“Oh, come on,” Kat says incredulously. “You know that’s bullshit.”

“Kat,” Henry chides.

“Do I have to apologize for swearing if he’s not a priest anymore?”

“No,” Marcus breaks in. “I don’t mind.”

“I’m just saying,” Kat goes on. “I had nightmares for months after it all happened. I _still_ have nightmares about it sometimes! And I wasn’t even in the room most of the time. The parts I saw, with Mom and Father Tomás? That was so scary. When you guys were doing it to Casey I saw how wrecked you were, and you didn’t even _know_ Casey. So doing that to Father Tomás must’ve been awful.”

“You get used to it,” Marcus tries to lie. His voice is so choked it’s obvious he’s not fooling anyone.

“You get used to pulling the demons out of people?” Henry has apparently decided to abandon his polite façade and join in.

Marcus inclines his head, conceding. “No,” he admits. “But you do get used to the mind games they play, a bit. It’s not easy, but I’ve been doing this a very long time. You get used to them using the same parts of your history over and over again against you. And you get used to the nightmares, in a way. It’s just part of an exorcist’s life.”

“But don’t you normally exorcise strangers?” Kat pushes.

Marcus swallows hard and stares down at the ice melting in his drink. “Yes,” he says. “In a way, that can be harder. When you do an exorcism, you have to see past the demon to the person they’re possessing. You have to love that person’s soul so much you can withstand whatever vile things the demon says to you. And sometimes that’s hard with a stranger.”

“Oh,” Kat says. “So you kinda had a head start with Father Tomás.”

Marcus chuckles mirthlessly. “I guess you could say that.”

“But you wouldn’t,” Kat concludes.

Marcus shreds off a corner of his napkin. “Demons can feel how you’re feeling. You remember how much it hurt when the thing inside Casey insulted you? It used your love for your sister to hurt you. That’s what they do.”

“And it had a lot of fuel against you with Father Tomás,” Kat says. Marcus finally gives her what she wants, looks up and meets her eyes. She’s trying to goad him into admitting something. Young women, he’s learned, can be almost as calculating as any demon. It’s not a charitable thought. He’s not proud of it.

“Yes, it did,” he says steadily. Kat raises her eyebrows. He supposes she thought he’d deny it or try to justify it away.

“And you’re afraid it’s going to come back,” Henry says, eyes out of focus. “Or maybe it’s not really gone. It’s just hiding again. Maybe you’ll wake up in the middle of the night and she’s spinning her head around like in the movies and the whole thing’s starting all over again.” He gives his head a little shake to refocus and looks vaguely guilty. He looks quickly at Kat, who only nods sadly.

“Yeah,” Marcus says. “Yeah, that’s most of it.” He also has nightmares about Tomás dying, Marcus failing in the exorcism and Tomás’s neck snapping like a twig. He has nightmares of Tomás holding Gabriel in his arms, condemning Marcus for failing them both. Sometimes Mouse and Mother Bernadette and the tour guide couple join them, and even Bennett showed up, once. Sometimes he just has nightmares of succeeding in the exorcism and Tomás sending him away, not wanting to look at him ever again, the way so many others have done, or Tomás being unable to move past the exorcism, falling into drink or drugs like a few of Marcus’s so-called success stories have done.

And those are all on top of the nightmares about his parents, about the other boys in the home, about slicing himself with the razors. About that first demon he saw, before God showed up, the rancid smell of rotting flesh mixed with the terrified piss of the boys who went before Marcus. Sometimes he dreams of paying penance for his childhood sins, getting whipped with a birch branch or kneeling on pebbles or just having to prostrate himself for an hour of prayer and reflection, stretched as far as he could until his arms went numb.

Marcus’s cheeks are wet. He swipes angrily at the tears. Crying in front of Tomás is one thing, but Kat and Henry don’t need to see this.

And then there’s a small hand squeezing his. Kat’s there, tears in her own eyes. Henry passes over a clean napkin.

“I don’t think you’ve ever given yourself time to rest,” Henry says. “But you should. Everyone needs it. That’s in the Bible, isn’t it? The heavy burdens and rest?”

That’s likely to tip Marcus over and really get the tears flowing, because he remembers Tomás throwing that passage at him, once. Marcus digs his fingernails into his palms to keep himself under control. Crying won’t do him any good, and if he can spare them a spectacle, he should.

“I just feel useless,” Marcus confesses. “I don’t know how to help him.”

Kat and Henry are quiet for a minute. “I don’t know if there’s any big thing you can do,” Henry finally says. “I think you just have to be there.”

Kat nods. “Just keep loving him. And _tell_ him you do. That seemed to help Mom and Casey. They both felt really guilty, but we had to remind them we loved them and they didn’t do anything wrong.”

Marcus tries not to make a face. “It’s not quite the same,” he tries.

“Isn’t it?” Kat challenges, raising an eyebrow, and Marcus remembers the girl in the car crash with her, the one who died. Oh, that’s why she can see right through him. Or maybe Marcus really is just that transparent.

“Well,” he says. He stops. He’s not sure what else to say. “It’s different for us,” he finally says.

“Because he’s a priest,” Henry says. Marcus can’t believe they’re all sat in lounge chairs on the back deck of a house in Canada, discussing his feelings for Tomás. It feels absurd. Any moment a clown is going to burst out and Marcus will realize this is a dream.

“I think,” Marcus says tentatively. “I think he’s confused about his feelings. I think he needs something solid right now and I’m here and it’s…it’s mucking things up in his head.”

“No,” Kat says immediately. “It doesn’t work that way.”

“It could,” Marcus says defensively.

“No,” Henry agrees with his daughter. “Lust could, maybe. But not love.”

Marcus’s cheeks heat up. He really doesn’t want to discuss lust. And he doesn’t think that’s quite right. He thinks it’s much easier to confuse love with other emotions, especially for them, going through seminary being told to love everyone and focus on love and find God’s love.

“Angela told me something,” Henry starts slowly. “She said—you know, it’s happened to her twice. I guess she could be an expert.” He laughs mirthlessly. “But she said it’s very hard to love after it happens. It’s hard to trust people afterward, because you’re not quite sure they’re real and not a demon. So I think if he—well, if he loves you after that, then…he’s probably not confused.”

Marcus swipes at his nose. Angela is certainly not the only person who’d been possessed and found it hard to trust people after. Marcus hates to think about it, hates to imagine all the people he’d spent so long loving and saving growing bitter and hard.

“I just don’t think he’s confused,” Kat says. “Because he looks at you like you’re the only thing he wants to see.”

Marcus covers his eyes with his hands. “But he can’t,” he says. “And I can’t be responsible for him going against God.”

“All that celibacy stuff is bullsh—”

“Marcus,” Henry cuts Kat off. He gives her a dirty look for good measure. “You know, Father Tomás told me once that God spoke through me to send him to you.” He shrugs. “Don’t priests believe in signs?”

Marcus shakes his head. “It’s not that easy.”

“Maybe it is,” Kat says softly. “Maybe we just want it to be hard so we have an excuse.”

It’s so similar to what Mouse said. Though Mouse had been far more accusing. She had right to be, since she knows him better. Marcus sighs. He shreds off another corner of the napkin and brushes his hands on his pants. He’s suddenly exhausted. He doesn’t want to talk anymore.

“Should we clear up here?” He suggests, pushing himself to his feet. He wants to sleep, but he’s used to pushing through weariness. And he certainly wants to get away from this conversation. Kat looks like she’s going to argue, but Henry stands, too.

“Let me and Kat do that, Marcus, you’re a guest.”

“Oh, wouldn’t dream of that,” Marcus says. Henry relents, probably because he can tell Marcus is about to shatter, and they do the dishes in amicable silence while Kat disappears upstairs somewhere.

Marcus spins around, fast, when he hears the front door open. He listens to two sets of footsteps and the whirr of Angela’s powerchair, anxiously waiting for Tomás to appear in the doorway. When he finally does, something finally loosens in Marcus’s chest, like a cold that’s finally eased and let him breathe fuller again.

“Hi,” Tomás says. His eyes are a little red-rimmed, but he looks unscathed.

“Hi,” Marcus answers.

“Case, come help me and your mom with the TV,” Henry suddenly says. Casey glances between Marcus and Tomás and nods. She pats Tomás’s shoulder before she follows her parents out of the kitchen. And then it’s just them, standing a foot apart.

“What’s the verdict?” Marcus asks, a bit hushed despite their solitude. “We listening to good music on the way home or not?”

Tomás cracks a little smile. He looks wrung out. “Depends what you consider good music,” he says cryptically. Marcus searches his face, but he can’t tell if Tomás is good emotionally exhausted or bad.

“Tomás,” he says helplessly. Tomás walks closer and presses himself into Marcus’s body. Marcus winds his arms around Tomás automatically.

“It was good,” Tomás murmurs, holding Marcus tightly. “You were right.”

Marcus sniffles. “Nice to hear on any occasion.”

“Don’t get used to it,” Tomás admonishes.

“Wouldn’t dream of it.” He squeezes Tomás tighter. “Did it help?”

“Yes,” Tomás says. “Well,” he amends. “I think it…will help. I still need time.”

“Yeah,” Marcus says. “Seems that’s the ticket to everything.”

Tomás kisses him. Marcus doesn’t pull away. But he doesn’t chase Tomás when he pulls away, even though he desperately wants to. Tomás examines Marcus’s face.

“Angela said we could stay here tonight,” he whispers. “But I told her we had somewhere else to be.”

Marcus nods. It feels uncomfortable, staying here. Not just because they’re uncomfortable being in the Rances’ home, but even if the Rances have all the love in the world for their exorcists, they still bring a certain atmosphere to the air of people who’ve seen them at work. They’re a bit like morticians. The nature of their work makes people uncomfortable. It’s just less awkward for everyone if they don’t impose.

“Where do you want to go?” Marcus asks.

“I figured we’d just go back over the border and find a motel,” Tomás says. He smiles. “Just like old times.”

“I can think of a few things I hope don’t happen like old times,” Marcus says dryly.

“Yes,” Tomás says, face going too serious so Marcus knows he’s about to crack a joke. “I hope we don’t go somewhere without a free breakfast buffet.”

Marcus shakes his head. “This is the kind of joke you think goes over my head?”

Tomás laughs. It’s an actual laugh and it could almost make Marcus cry with how happy he is to hear it. “I’m very funny,” Tomás says.

“Okay,” Marcus says sarcastically. Tomás kisses him again and then pushes away.

“Let’s go.”

They’re both quiet on the drive. And Marcus _does_ let Tomás pick the radio station, because he’s a good person. He tried to drive, but Tomás told him very seriously that this is Olivia’s car and Tomás is on the car insurance but Marcus is not and if it was _Tomás’s_ car he wouldn’t mind but he won’t put _Olivia_ at that kind of risk and he spends so long talking about bloody car insurance that Marcus just gives up. The border guard on the US side gives Tomás a bit of a hard time, checking his passport three or four times after he hears his accent and squinting at him in a way that Marcus doesn’t like and Tomás submits to with a quiet sigh.

“Should’ve worn the collar,” Marcus remarks as the man scans Tomás’s passport yet again.

“It doesn’t help me much here,” Tomás says wearily.

“Not big on the _I was a stranger and ye took me in_ bit?”

Tomás rolls his eyes. “I’m not even a stranger. I was born here.”

But they get through, and Marcus throws a middle finger at the guard as they drive away. Tomás scolds, “Marcus!” and tries to sound outraged, but he’s laughing. Tomás takes the exit for the first town they find on this side of the border and goes to one of the nicer motels. It might even qualify as a hotel. Marcus isn’t quite sure on the distinction.

“Wow,” Marcus says with a little whistle. “Did we get a raise?”

“Technically the opposite,” Tomás points out. “But I still have some money and I told you: I want a breakfast buffet in the morning.”

“You know it’s going to be sludgy porridge and rotten fruit,” Marcus points out as they get out of the car.

“But they might have a waffle-maker,” Tomás says logically. “Have you seen those? The kind they have at hotels? They make the waffles like that.” He snaps to illustrate his point and Marcus has to put his hands in his pockets to keep them to himself. He’d forgotten, almost, Tomás’s ability to be delighted by the most mundane things.

Marcus hangs back and tries not to look dirty and skulking as Tomás gets them a single room. Marcus’s stomach is fluttering like mad even though they’ve been sharing a bed for the past two weeks. It just seems illicit, doing it out in the open like this. Paying money to do it. It feels different.

“We don’t have any overnight things,” Marcus realizes once they’re inside.

“I have your toothbrush,” Tomás tells him. “But I didn’t bring any other clothes.”

Marcus shrugs. “Not like we’ve never worn the same clothes without a wash before.” The bed is soft enough to make him sigh contentedly when he flops down on it. “Oh, this is nice.”

Tomás lies back beside him, looking up at the ceiling. “Can we talk about things?”

Marcus groans a little. “This was your plan all along,” he jokes. “You got me alone to torture me with talk.”

Tomás scoffs. “I have you alone every day.”

“You took me to a fancy hotel to get my guard down. You even did it with a kiss, you Judas.”

“Are you implying you’re the Christ figure in this analogy?” Tomás asks, unimpressed.

Marcus laughs harder than he probably should. He raises up onto his elbow so he can look at Tomás. “Yes,” he says, serious now. “We can talk about things.”

And then they just sit there for a minute, not talking. Marcus wants to get up and pace, feeling on edge, but he doesn’t want to put Tomás on edge. He settles from drumming his fingers against the bedspread as subtly as he can. Sometimes he just needs to move to remind himself he can; he’s not been locked in a confessional while three older boys hold the door shut and he’s not pinned in place by a demon.

“What things?” He finally prompts, because he can only handle the suspense so long.

Tomás sighs. “You know what things.”

“I don’t,” Marcus counters. “We have a lot of things. It could be demon things or it could be Church and laicization things or it could be…the other things.”

Tomás rolls up to his hip, too, so they’re nose-to-nose. “I want to start with the other things. We can get to the rest of it after.”

“Okay,” Marcus says, hoping his voice sounds steady. He doesn’t feel very steady.

“I know you think I’m confused about what I want,” Tomás starts. “And…and I understand why you think that. I know I haven’t been—I’ve been, um, unstable lately. But I’m not confused, Marcus. I wanted this before I got possessed, you know. You have to know that.”

He’d wondered a time or two, but he hadn’t _known_. He swallows hard. “No,” he says, breathless. “No, not really.”

“Oh.” Tomás puts his hand on Marcus’s hip. “Well. I did.”

“So…” Marcus bites his lip, gathering his thoughts. “Why now?”

Tomás raises his eyebrows. “Well, first you left. And then when you came back, I was possessed. And then we went to Rome, and then we were at Olivia’s house. I just didn’t really have time to do anything about it. Even Olivia could tell. That’s what she was saying to me when we left the other day. She was telling me she likes you and I should hurry up and do something about it.”

Marcus laughs shrilly. He feels a little drunk, even though he’d only had one glass of sangria with dinner. He’s never liked red wine much, ironically.

“Oh,” he says. “Oh.” He takes a deep breath. “But, see, now we have to talk about Church and laicization things,” he points out. “Because…because we can’t— _you_ can’t—unless…” His chest is getting all tight again.

“You can get up and pace,” Tomás says calmly. Marcus doesn’t waste a second, practically jumping off the bed.

“I just don’t understand what your plan is here, Tomás,” Marcus says.

“Well, I don’t really know either,” Tomás admits. “I just know one part of it.”

“Which part?” Marcus asks.

“You.” Tomás shrugs. “My plan is just…you. We’ll figure out the rest of it together.”

It makes Marcus melt, a little bit. He braces his hands on the bed and bows his head. “I don’t want to be the reason you break your vows again,” he says. “I saw what that did to you the first time.”

Tomás sits up so he can put his hand on Marcus’s arm. “You know, when I was telling Jessica I couldn’t see her anymore, I told her I was tired of not being the man God wanted me to be. But…” He sighs again. “Marcus, I’m not sure I _was_ being the man God wanted me to be. I don’t know if God…minds? He let me do His work while I was breaking my vows. He didn’t leave me and He didn’t punish me. I’m starting to think maybe…maybe the man God wants me to be is just an exorcist. Maybe it doesn’t have to be a priest.”

Marcus can’t speak. He swallows. He shakes his head and swallows again. “Tomás, I’m scared of you doing exorcisms again,” he finally manages to say. “I’m terrified. For myself, too, for what I might do if it comes down to you or anyone else.”

“I know,” Tomás says softly. “I am, too. But talking with Angela and Casey helped me remember why I chased you down in the first place.”

Marcus laughs a little. “Followed me around until I gave in.”

Tomás rolls his eyes. “I went to St. Aquinas once and then _you_ followed _me_ home,” he points out. “We’ll take time to rest. And to heal. And maybe we’ll only do exorcisms close to home, or we’ll only go sometimes. I don’t know, Marcus. I’m not sure right now. I promise I’ll take time to get over what happened and I’ll keep talking to Mouse and Angela and Casey. And _you_. But if this is what God wants from me, if He is still giving me this power a different way, without letting the demons in, I have to do it. There are people who need me. But you don’t have to come. You never have to do another exorcism again, Marcus. You don’t. You’ve earned a rest. You _deserve_ to rest.”

Marcus climbs back onto the bed and drops his head to Tomás’s shoulder. “I do have to,” he says quietly. “If you’re out there, doing the work and putting yourself in danger, I’ve got to be there, too. I won’t be able to stand it, waiting for you to come home.”

Tomás raises Marcus’s head with a hand on his chin. “Will you be?” He asks. “Waiting for me to come home?”

Marcus doesn’t know how Tomás expected any other outcome. How could he think Marcus could ever turn him away, for real? Fully? Maybe Marcus should. Maybe it’s wrong of Marcus to agree to this, when it’s going to result in either Tomás breaking his vows or leaving the priesthood altogether. Or being a factor, anyway; Marcus isn’t arrogant enough and he knows Tomás well enough to know Marcus isn’t the whole reason there. Maybe if Marcus were stronger, better, he would refuse Tomás. But Marcus can’t. He’s been alone for so long, and he doesn’t want to be anymore. Tomás ruined that part of him that could stand it for so long.

He takes Tomás’s face in his hands and he kisses him. He can’t think of any other option. He pulls back and murmurs, “I do, you know. I love you.”

“I know you do,” Tomás answers. “And I love you.”

It’s strange, the effect of those words. Marcus knew, in his head, that Tomás loved him. Whether it was brotherly love or not, it’s been an objective fact for a long time. But this is different. This isn’t one friend loving another. This is Tomás telling Marcus he’s _in love_ with him, with all the implications it entails. Tomás knows Marcus. He _knows_ Marcus. He knows how Marcus grew up and he knows the dark things in Marcus’s mind. Tomás knows how Marcus takes his coffee and how often he cries in the middle of the night and that he doesn’t like cashews. Tomás knows Marcus is jagged, sometimes crueler than he should be and almost always too intense. Tomás knows everything Marcus hates about himself and he’s still sitting here, holding Marcus and loving him. It’s too much. It’s overwhelming.

Marcus is crying. Tomás is used to that and loves him for that, too.

Tomás wipes away one of Marcus’s tears with his thumb. “What does this mean?” He asks.

Marcus shrugs. He kisses Tomás again. He’s had his first hit and can’t stop now. “It means I’m in,” he says. “I don’t know exactly where we’re going but I’m here to go with you.”

“I don’t know exactly where we’re going, either,” Tomás warns. “Maybe I’ll change my mind and won’t want to do any exorcisms ever again. Maybe I can’t. Maybe God doesn’t want me to be an exorcist after all. Maybe I really am broken from the possession.”

“’S fine,” Marcus says. They’ll fight about the broken part later. “Long as you don’t change your mind about me.”

Tomás pulls him close again and kisses the top of his nose, the scar on his eyebrow, and then his lips. “No,” he says firmly. “I am not going to change my mind about you.”

Marcus takes a deep breath and holds it for a few seconds. He’s full to bursting with happiness, drunk on the feeling of Tomás’s lips against his and the idea of them planning a future together. He knows he’s still going to feel useless sometimes, he’s still going to have bad nights where the terror doesn’t stop and he can’t stop shaking. And Tomás will have nightmares. Tomás will have to wrestle with his choice, remaining a priest and ignoring his vow or leaving the one thing he’s worked toward his entire life. It seems inevitable they’ll go back out into the field, off to do more exorcisms, and that thought makes Marcus tremble, just a little. They’ll both have to deal with the fear they’re holding onto about that.

But still, knowing all this, Marcus is happy. He’s not worried about whether this is okay with God. He feels completely at peace in this decision.

He kisses Tomás again, a second kiss, a third. “Okay,” Marcus says. “I love you.”

“I love you, too,” Tomás says with a smile. He brushes his nose against Marcus’s. “Can we just lie here for a bit?”

_We_. Marcus realizes that word is one of the most important words to him. It isn’t one he’s had much experience with until this past year with Tomás. He had it, a bit, with Mouse, but things were different then. _He_ was different. He wasn’t ready for it. He is now, he realizes. He’s not sure exactly how to be part of a _we_ , in all honesty. Except he does, doesn’t he? He’s been doing it for a year now with Tomás. They’ve been a _we_ longer than he ever realized. He pulls Tomás closer and presses his face to that spot between Tomás’s neck and his shoulder, the place his face fits into so well. He thinks of what Henry said about signs and thinks about what Kat said about not making things complicated and thinks about what Mouse said about being there. And he smiles.

“Yes,” he tells Tomás. “We can do anything we want.”

What they want is each other. And they’ll figure out the rest together.

**Author's Note:**

> [my tumblr](http://biblionerd07.tumblr.com)


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